


Lost In The Sound of Separation

by JBankai89



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: A/B/O, Alpha Otabek, Alpha/Omega, Angst, Body Modification, Discrimination, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Spousal Abuse, Injury, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mild OoC, Omega Yurio, Omegaverse, Otabek is a badass, Set in Canada, Sexual Harassment, Slow Burn, Yurio grows boobies, genderfluid Yurio, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-10-11 16:57:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 50,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10469802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JBankai89/pseuds/JBankai89
Summary: Following the Grand Prix Final in Barcelona, Yuri Plisetsky disappears. Only Otabek seems to be concerned about him, while his friends and family seem to care little about where he may have gone.Two years later, Otabek has moved from his home rink to one in a small college town in Québec, Canada, and a late-night stop at a nearby convenience store proves to be the small rocks that start an avalanche.Everything was about to change.





	1. Prologue - This Is How I Disappear

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Post-Season One, completely canon up to that point. My take on Alpha/Omega may be a little different than some of the others out there, and if there's any multifandom readers who come across this story, it will be different than my omegaverse fics for the Harry Potter fandom. Yurio is more genderfluid than male in this, and aside from the usual, while Yurio has male anatomy, he also grows mammary tissue. Aka, he grows bazoombas. (It just doesn't strike me as realistic that an omega can bear young, but can't feed them, which is why. I'm not just doing it for some weird kink.) 
> 
> This fic probably won't be crazy long, maybe 50-75K or so. For the moment I'll be posting once every two weeks, and I'll up it to once a week after I have more done. Since this is my first multi-chapter anime fic...well, ever, feedback would be nice. Title stolen from UnderOath. 
> 
>  
> 
> **Warning: This fic will contain mentions of sexual assault and scenes of near-sexual assault. I did not use an archive warning because I felt that that would be an exaggeration of its inclusion in this fic. On the chapters where it comes up explicitly there will be additional warnings in the author's notes, so if you feel that this is a subject that would be difficult for you to read about, please, please, please keep an eye on my author's notes. I do not want to inadvertently distress anyone, especially since it's such a sensitive topic.**
> 
>  
> 
> **That being said, if anyone feels that I was too light-handed on the tagging, please let me know and I will change it.**

Lost in The Sound of Separation

 

“ _The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars.”_

— _Jack Kerouac (On The Road, 1957)_

 

Prologue – This Is How I Disappear

 

It happened so suddenly that even twenty-four hours later, Otabek Altin was still reeling from the news.

The article was glaring at him on the small screen of his phone, its title so ludicrous, so outlandish, so completely improbable that he still did not believe— _refused to believe—_ what he was seeing.

 

_BBC Sports: Rising Star Yuri Plisetsky to Retire_

 

Otabek refused to read the article.

It wasn't true.

It _couldn't_ be true.

Otabek had never met anyone as driven and ambitious as Yuri. It made absolutely no sense.

 

“It's true,” Yakov had replied tersely, and even over the phone Otabek could all but _hear_ his scowl. “Yuri cannot compete anymore. I will not be a coach to that—I will not coach him.”

The sheer disgust in the Russian man's voice came as something as a surprise. He had always known Yakov to be a prickly man, but never hateful.

In his concern over finding out what had happened to Yuri, Otabek pushed the curiosity over what may have sparked this shift in attitude to the back of his mind.

He _needed_ to find Yuri.

Despite his reluctance to talk to them, a week of no calls or texts from Yuri spurred Otabek to try asking the Men's Single Figure Skating's Power Couple.

Beyond knowing nothing, Yuuri and Viktor appeared wholly unconcerned with his abrupt disappearance.

“He just needed to get away, that's all I know,” Viktor replied simply, apparently surprised over Otabek's concern.

“But have you spoken to him at all?” Otabek asked with a frown, his even tone giving away none of his concern. Now was definitely not the time to divulge his secret affections for his friend. There would be time enough for that _after_ he was found. “I can't reach him; he won't answer my calls or texts.”

“No, we have nothing to say to...to him,” Yuuri replied, his tone dripping with guilt. He would not meet Otabek's gaze as he said it. “He's better off retired, trust me.”

 

“Yurachka needed a new start,” Nikolai Plisetsky had replied simply, and the look in his eyes as he said it told Otabek that the old man knew more than he was saying. “He's in a better place, now,” The old man said while he cocked his head to the side curiously, “why do you ask, are you a friend of his?”

“Yes sir,” Otabek confirmed with a short nod of his head. “I was concerned. It was very sudden, and Yuri never struck me as someone to quit like that.”

“Ah, well, there was nothing that could be done,” he said solemnly, “these things happen. Here,” Nikolai stepped back into the little house, and came back to the door with a paper bag, the bottom, stained with grease, was more of an indicator of the bag's contents than the thick smell of fried food that permeated the air. “ _Katsudon_ Pirozki. Yurachka's favourite. I cannot eat these all on my own, please enjoy them.”

Otabek accepted the bag and nodded his head.

“ _Spasibo._ ”

Nikolai smiled.

“ _Pazhaloysta_.”

Otabek stepped down from the shacklike house, and held the bag of food in his arms like one might cradle a newborn child. Only when the door had shut and Nikolai's face had disappeared from the grimy window did Otabek allow his neutral expression to fall, and his worry, anguish, and abject fear flooded his features.

No one knew where Yuri was.

More troubling still, at least to Otabek, was how nobody seemed to _care_.

 


	2. The Last Place You Look

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you so much guys for the comments on the prologue! ^^ I'm glad it's garnered some interest. At last, a real chapter, and I hope you guys enjoy it. It's not as long as would have liked, but any more stretching and I think it would've turned into a mess of plotless filler.

Chapter One – Last Place You Look

 

The overhead intercom was white noise in Otabek's ears.

The suitcase wheels stuck every few steps as he walked, causing the entire to thing to skid a few inches before the wheels began to roll again. With Otabek's attention focused on the roughly drawn map in his hand and the large overhead signs, he hardly noticed; even with all his preparation, he still silently cursed the psychopath who designed this damn airport. From what he knew, Pierre Elliott Trudeau was a well-loved former PM, and Otabek had a feeling that he would weep at such a hellish place being named after him.

He walked, circling and grumbling as he searched futilely for the exits, and Otabek could not help but reflect on how drastically his life had changed in only two years.

Without Yuri, the loneliness was horrible, and it amazed him how before him, the solitude had never bothered him much, but after, he felt physically incapable of returning to that pre-Yuri mindset. It only worsened as Yuri's disappearance extended, and even his vague skating acquaintances had stopped talking to him. Apparently, his single-minded _need_ to locate Yuri had made him something of a bad conversationalist.

He _needed_ to find Yuri. Nothing else mattered.

Otabek wove through the airport, his head in the clouds, and he was rather surprised when he found himself at the exits, and he shook his head in an effort to focus on the present as he made a beeline for the first free cab that he saw.

“I need to get to this address, please,” Otabek told the cabbie in broken French, and handed him a slip of paper with an address written on it.

“No problem,” he answered in perfect English, and Otabek felt some of his tense muscles loosen. Maybe the legendary rudeness of the Québecois was a myth, after all. “I can help you with your luggage if you want,” he continued politely as he stepped out of the car, circled around to the trunk, and popped it open before he helped Otabek heft the suitcase in.

“Thank you,” Otabek replied, and even offered the man the ghost of a smile. It was the closest thing to a genuine smile he'd made in a long time—he found it rather difficult to do so when Yuri was still missing.

The man nodded his head once, and returned to the driver's seat while Otabek slipped into the back. The driver turned the ignition and pulled out of the parking spot, then made for the highway smoothly, without the usual, jarring, barely-legal driving he was used to experiencing in a taxicab.

“Is it your first time in Québec?” the cabbie asked conversationally, while Otabek stared dazedly at the man's Taxi I.D. affixed to the back window. Daanish Patel looked at him in the rearview mirror, and his old, friendly eyes crinkled in the corners when he smiled.

“I had a connecting flight here last year,” Otabek replied, “I was here for a few hours.”

“And how long are you staying this time?”

“Six months, a year, I'm not sure yet,” he answered with a vague shrug, and the older man eyed him with confusion.

“You're not sure how long you'll be here?”

“I skate competitively,” Otabek explained, “if this Montréal rink works for me, I'll stay on longer.” He shrugged as he finished his explanation, but he eyed the man oddly. Why was he telling him all this? He _never_ talked to people like this. Daanish seemed to understand why he looked so perplexed, and he chuckled softly.

“I have one of those faces, I have had many interesting conversations because of that. But technically you'll be on the West Island—not Montréal.”

“Hm,” Otabek grunted, not really knowing (nor caring) what the difference was, and slowly, the inside of the car fell into silence. The driver seemed to understand that he wasn't a big talker, and he switched on the radio; Guns 'N Roses filled the silence. Otabek watched the highway give way to suburban, white-picket fence homes that probably cost a few million dollars, in silence, his mind a blissful blank as he watched them zip by.

They wove though towns, and Otabek watched their welcome and goodbye signs blurred past—Pointe Claire, Beaconsfield, Beaurepaire, Baie D'Urfé...and at last they reached the one he'd been waiting for.

 

_Bienvenue au Sainte-Anne-de-Bellevue._

 

His new home.

For now, at least.

 

It was a quaint little tourist town, and on the cusp of summer, it was positively teeming with people.

The public transport terminal was one of the first things that they passed on the way into town, and it was clogged with teenagers and twenty-somethings. As they drove farther west, they followed a long bike path that was dotted with runners, dog-walkers, and cyclists. On the opposite side of the road was a picturesque waterfront of a lake filled with picnickers, as well as people with kayaks and canoes trying to manœuvre the vessels in and out of the water.

Soon, the waterfront disappeared as they progressed onto what seemed to be the main street of the town, which was cluttered with small, locally-owned restaurants and shops crammed together with well-known chains, and the sidewalks, like the bus terminal had been, was clogged with people.

The cabbie slowed to a stop at a T junction before an immaculately maintained white house located right on the water. Otabek paid him and accepted his help to heft his case from the trunk, then he bid him goodbye as he wove up the walkway. His new landlord's office was a far cry from what he'd expected, but if the well-kept lawn and gardens was anything to go by, at least his new place would likely be clean, at least.

With a grunt as he adjusted the wheels of his case on the cobblestone walkway, he dragged it up to the front door and went to knock, but only managed to rap the door once before it swung open to reveal a tall and skinny older man, likely in his late forties, with a kind smile on his face.

“May I help you, young man?” He asked in English. Otabek stared in confusion, as he'd expected much less English language and much more French than he'd been privy to so far, but he shook off his surprise quickly.

“I'm looking for Arthur Brunet. I'm a new tenant, but I don't have my keys yet,” he explained, and the older man nodded once as he stepped aside to wave him in.

“I'll let him know that you're here, he'll be with you soon,” the man said, and motioned to a line of leather seats, “have a seat, it won't be long.”

Otabek straightened up his suitcase and fell into one of the proffered seats, and as he sat there, he once more fell back into reflecting on the last two years. He relived them in an internal reel of images and sensations, and he realized (not for the first time) just how empty his life was without his only friend, Yuri Plisetsky.

Two Grand Prix Final silver medals weren't even enough to bolster him, losing that first year without Yuri to Yuuri Katsuki, then to Victor Nikiforov the following year. He had needed a change, and he often wondered if his rut was _because_ of the mysterious disappearance of his young friend, or if it was merely coincidental that his rut fell into place the same moment Yuri seemed to fall off the face of the earth.

Otabek sighed heavily, the encroaching misery that had plagued him began to settle itself in his mind once more when quite suddenly, his body went rigid as a particular smell invaded his senses. It was a scent he had never been exposed to before, but even so, he knew what it was immediately.

The sweet scent of an unmated Omega.

Even the faint smell—based on how faint, they were several miles away, at least—filled him with a thrill of both desire and a fear that bordered on terror all at once.

Otabek felt his cock twitch with interest as the faint scent enveloped him, but thanks to the mentality of his home country and the time he had spent in Russia, he did not correlate his Alpha heritage with anything positive.

Alphas and Omegas were freaks of nature, mistrusted and treated like invalids, believed to be driven by their base sexual need and nothing more.

None of it was true, of course, but Otabek valued his well-being, hell, his _life_ enough to never say so.

No one knew that he was an Alpha—not even his late parents had known. Especially considering that his livelihood depended on him keeping that particular fact to himself, it was a secret that Otabek had never dared to share with anyone.

More than once, he had heard rumours that it was more accepted in places like Central Europe and North America, but he hadn't the nerve to test out whether or not there was any truth to the rumour. Alphas and Omegas were still barred from most professional sports, so regardless if it was more accepted or not, he had absolutely nothing to gain—and everything to lose—by coming out.

Otabek pushed back the sudden urge he had to follow his nose, as well as the surge of memories related to his panic-induced realization that he had come into his Alpha genes. He had just managed to calm himself down just as one of the office doors opened, and a friendly-looking middle-aged man stepped out.

“Hi, Otabek, Altin, right?” he asked in English, and Otabek nodded as he stood.

“Yes,” he replied, “you're Arthur Brunet?”

“That's me,” he said with a kind smile. “Come in to my office, and we'll go over the lease, all right?”

Otabek nodded once, and followed the man into the office.

 

Signing the six-month lease and acquiring his keys took less than ten minutes. Otabek thanked his new landlord politely, then after receiving directions to his new place, he stepped out of the building and headed down the street. It was barely a two-minute walk, but it seemed longer with his suitcase's wheels catching on the grooves and cracks in the street and sidewalk, but eventually he managed to make it to his new apartment, which he shared with a small-business pizza place called _Pizza Bellevue._

The exterior made Otabek more than a little doubtful. He had been in apartments that shared its building with some other store before, and it was usually a rickety, questionable kind of setup, but surprisingly despite its location, the inside of the building was clean and orderly. It smelled strongly of yeasted bread, presumably from the pizza place, and everything seemed to be in almost-new condition, from the stair banisters, to the mail boxes, to the doors to the various apartments themselves, which, aside from a few blackened bicycle tire marks, were all spotless.

Otabek hefted his suitcase up three flights of stairs, and he was confronted with another door. On the other side, he found a long hallway that contained six apartments; he counted the door numbers as he went down it, and stopped before one directly in the middle that had a brass '3' affixed to the door.

 

He knew that some skaters (JJ being the first that came to mind) liked to live in grandeur—huge houses or penthouse suites, anything and everything at their fingertips—but Otabek felt most comfortable living simply.

The apartment was a sparsely furnished bachelor with a kitchenette, refrigerator, bed, and desk. It smelled strongly of pine-scented cleaner and a lingering odour of cats, and the scent, while not the most pleasant thing in the world, never failed to bring his thoughts back to Yuri.

In many ways, it was almost as though Yuri Plisetsky had never existed. His disappearance was so complete that Otabek's regular correspondence with Nikolai was one of the only things that reminded Otabek that he had not imagined his fiery, petulant friend.

“Do not worry, vitya,” Nikolai had said to Otabek more than once, “Yurachka is in a better place, you do not need to worry about him anymore.”

Even his grandfather acted like Yuri wasn't missing, and instead spoke as though he was dead.

And still he had no idea where Yuri was, or why he left.

 

Otabek shook of the memories the smell had triggered, and dropped his heavy case at the foot of the twin bed. He shed his leather jacket and tossed it aside before he fell onto the mattress, which still had that deodorizer tang to it, telling him that it had been recently cleaned. As he made a note to buy sheets sometime soon, he finally allowed his jet lag to take over, and fell into a heavy sleep.

 

~*~

 

When Otabek next woke, his large bay window (giving him a delightful view of his neighbour's kitchen and bathroom windows and little else) was black. Cursing softly to himself, he sat up and checked the time on his phone, to find it well past midnight.

“I should have set the alarm...” he muttered grumpily as he he opened his phone's browser and began to search for any twenty-four-hour places that might be open, only to find nothing. His stomach growled in protest, and Otabek grimaced when he came to find the only open place was a nearby convenience store. He wasn't entirely keen on stuffing himself with salt, fat, and starches, but he had little choice at the moment.

After he popped a mint in his mouth to not kill the cashier with his morning breath, he pulled back on his jacket, grabbed his keys and wallet, and headed out.

 _It's my own damn fault for picking a rink so far from the city..._ he thought, and looked down the street to see the glowing red and blue sign, less than a thirty-second walk from his front door.

Otabek pivoted on his heel and lifted his foot to begin the short walk, then froze when once again he caught the scent of an Omega on the fresh summer air.

It was confused and muted somehow, as though whomever it belonged to had tried to smother it.

Otabek frowned; he wanted to say than an Omega should wear his heritage proudly, especially in a country where it was so accepted (Canada being the first country to add Alpha and Omega individuals to their Charter of Rights and Freedoms). However, Otabek did know that Omegas were targeted and picked out far more easily than he would ever be, given their significant bodily changes when they began to present.

Otabek couldn't say that coming into his inheritance as an Alpha had changed his life very much. He put on muscle much more easily and his sense of smell was heightened, but aside from that, he was very much the same Otabek Altin he'd always been.

 _Did Yuri present as an Omega?_ He wondered idly as he walked, but in the same instant he shook his head minutely. _Impossible, he always had such a commanding personality..._

Otabek's musings carried him all the way to the store, and he passed only the briefest of glances towards the cash, where a willowy blond was bent over, apparently restocking something underneath the register. He could only see the top of their head, but immediately he was almost knocked off his feet by the aroma that engulfed him.

 _I suppose I found the Omega..._ he thought as he wove through the aisles, picking out beer, peanuts, chips, and beef ramen.

Given that it was nearly three in the morning, Otabek was the only one in the store, and the cashier paid him no mind as he browsed, and paused to grab a carton of milk, some coffee, and pastries for the morning, all the items stacked precariously on top of the case of beer in his arms. He dumped everything on the counter as the blond straightened up, which was lucky, because had he still been holding everything when he caught sight of the cashier, he would have surely dropped it all.

“Bonjour, H—” he began, but cut himself off as he stared, wide-eyed at Otabek, and Otabek stared back in equal shock. It took him a moment to find his voice again, and when he at last spoke, he was pleased that his voice was the same even tone that it always was.

 

“Hello, Yuri.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Brunet is pronounced brew-nay. It's a fairly common family name here.
> 
> For those who may not know, the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms is basically the equivalent of the American Constitution.


	3. Dirty Little Secret

Chapter Two – Dirty Little Secret

 

Otabek stared at Yuri.

 

Yuri stared back.

 

It was difficult to say who was more surprised by the other's sudden appearance, moreso when some of the shock wore off and Otabek was able to absorb what he was seeing—Yuri as a fully-developed Omega.

Despite the fact that Otabek was an Alpha, with the time he had spent in his home country and in Russia, he had only heard vague descriptions of what an Omega looked like. He had never seen one in-person before, and to see _Yuri Plisetsky_ as a fully-formed Omega was somewhere between shocking and enticing all at once.

Yuri's hair was an inch or two longer than it had been when Otabek had last seen him, and now it just barely brushed the tops of his shoulders in a slight curl. Two small braids ran from his temple, curled around his ear and trailed down each side of his head elegantly, and Otabek thought that he had a striking resemblance to fair woodland elves from some of the fantasy novels that he'd read. Yuri's eyes were the same vibrant green that they had always been, and his frame was still strong, which told Otabek that despite being out of the sport for two years, he was likely still training hard.

The most significant change however, was the swell of Yuri's bosom.

It was somewhat concealed by the black polo shirt that he wore, which bore both the store's logo and a name tag that read, _Yura,_ with a little cat head sticker affixed next to it. His breasts seemed to be slightly too large for his lithe frame, and Otabek found himself struggling to keep his attention focused on Yuri's face. His gaze kept dropping to the grapefruit-sized swell of his chest, and he hated how the mere sight was enough to stir in him the first tendrils of desire.

Yuri crossed his arms across his chest pointedly as he glared at Otabek, and he went a little red.

“Sorry,” Otabek muttered, and forced his gaze back up to Yuri's face. Yuri's expression didn't change, however.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded, his face red, though Otabek couldn't tell whether it was embarrassment or shame.

“I just moved here to train for next season,” Otabek explained, his tone even, and winced when he caught the look of longing that crossed Yuri's face at his words, but forced himself to ignored it while he explained himself. “I needed a change of scenery.”

Otabek paused for a moment as he regarded the Omega. He wanted, more than anything, to circle the counter and grab hold of Yuri, though he wasn't certain whether he wanted to embrace him or throttle him for cutting him out of his life so completely. Yuri was beyond tense, however; now that he'd taken the time to push past his shock and truly _look_ at the Omega, he could see that his muscles were as taut as an elastic band, and it seemed as though he couldn't meet Otabek's eye for some strange reason. It took Otabek a moment for the realization to hit him, and when it did, he felt the bottom drop out of his stomach.

 

Yuri was afraid.

 

Of _him_.

 

Otabek felt slightly sick, though he had no idea why Yuri would be so affrighted by his mere presence. Otabek took a small step back, and he watched the Omega visibly relax.

“I've been looking for you, Yura,” Otabek said, careful to keep his tone even, despite the betrayal he still felt at being left in the dark for so long. “You never returned my calls or texts, and I've been looking _everywhere_ for you. Did you seriously think that I would drop you if I found out that you had presented?”

Yuri's frown faded a little, though he still looked far from happy at the chance meeting with his old friend. Otabek couldn't tell if Yuri wanted to cry or scream at him, and still carried that distinctive, fearful look in his eye. Yuri had always been fiery and endearingly petulant at the best of times, and this more reserved version of his best—and only—friend was deeply worrying.

“Yakov found out about me,” Yuri explained in a monotonous voice, his gaze fixed firmly on the counter, and not on Otabek. “I didn't know what was going on, I just woke up one morning feeling a little off, a little different...he figured it out almost at once and threatened to expose me if I didn't pull out of the sport completely, and Grandpa urged me to retire, because of how dangerous being exposed for what I was would be.

“Grandpa smuggled me to Canada—into this small, but safe town where I could integrate and not fear for my life twenty-four/seven.” Yuri paused, and his eyes shifted from the countertop he had been staring at to the Alpha, his gaze hard, though Otabek could still see the fear that was concealed beneath the calm exterior. “Beka, you were from a country with similar...restrictions. I didn't even _know_ what Alphas and Omegas were until Grandpa explained it to me. Even Viktor and his little piggy were uncomfortable around me when they found out.”

Otabek opened his mouth to respond, but at the same moment, a loud, jarring buzzing noise drew them out of their conversation. Yuri looked past Otabek to the door, and with a heavy sigh he shifted one of his hands under the counter, presumably to some sort of button that would unlock the door, and he admitted the group of half a dozen giggling, tipsy young women.

They went straight for the candy aisle, and began picking out a small fortune in sweets. Otabek refocused his attention on Yuri, who had finally begun to ring up his purchases. When he bagged up everything save the beer, he moved to hand it to Otabek, and he accepted it while he closed his opposite hand over Yuri's to stop him from pulling back straightaway. Yuri tensed, and his eyes bulged as his gaze flitted rapidly from Otabek's eyes to the hand on his. For the moment, Otabek ignored his fear.

“Come see me after your shift,” Otabek said forcefully, almost pleadingly, “we need to talk—properly talk. I'm just down the street—the third apartment in that building with the pizza place. Will you come?”

 

Yuri hesitated.

 

He eyed Otabek with a look somewhere between mistrust and apprehension. No doubt he could smell his Alpha blood, and fleetingly Otabek wondered if maybe Yuri had been assaulted by one during Heat Season. The mere idea made him want to abandon his calm disposition and do some _real_ damage to whomever dared to touch what was his.

 

_His?_

 

Otabek shook his head minutely, and hoped that Yuri could not sense the sudden feeling of possessiveness that had washed over his mind—now wasn't the time for that.

“No,” Yuri said as he shook his head and narrowed his eyes at Otabek. “I don't—I can't—I don't like being around Alphas...alone.”

“Then come walk with me after your shift,” Otabek tried again, “we can go down to the locks, and I'll buy you ice cream or something. Yura...we need to talk about this.”

“I don't _want_ to talk about it, Beka,” Yuri growled, his eyes flashing with anger as he wrenched himself away from Otabek, and he reluctantly let the Omega go. “I want to be left _alone_. Just pay for your shit and get out.”

“Yura, please,” Otabek pleaded, his voice still even and close to emotionless, but he was certain that Yuri could sense the desperation in his tone. Yuri glared at him, his jaw muscles twitching in clear anger, but he deflated a little, as though he realized that Otabek wasn't going to give up that easily.

“All right, _fine,_ just stop begging—it's pathetic,” Yuri grumbled, “meet me at the ice cream place across from the froyo place at noon. I'm holding you to that ice cream promise.”

Otabek offered Yuri a faint smile, and Yuri's lips parted, his eyes widened faintly, and the attractive look of surprise upon his face buoyed his mood as he nodded in agreement, paid for his stuff, and stepped out of the store to head back to his new apartment.

 

~*~

 

The wait from three in the morning to noon was agonizing for Otabek, and in that time he envisioned easily half a dozen scenarios wherein Yuri failed to show up. In theory, if the Omega _did_ stand him up Otabek could probably track him, but he wasn't certain is his Alpha senses were that good—and he didn't think that Yuri would appreciate being stalked, either.

 

At eleven, Otabek nervously showered, shaved, and dressed. He pulled on his biker jeans, boots, and a fitted black tank top, and grabbed his sunglasses off the kitchenette's counter along with his keys as he made his way out the door.

 

The ice cream place, Crème de la Crème, was little more than a small kiosk on the waterfront, and trapped inside were two harassed-looking teenagers who were trying to serve at least six people at once. It had taken Otabek less than forty-five seconds to walk the distance from his front door to the place, but he wanted to make sure that he didn't miss Yuri. He eyed the employees for a moment longer, then sat down at one of the empty picnic tables, and stuck in his ear buds when the constant and rapid volleying from French to English and back again had begun to make him a little dizzy.

Otabek sat and waited impatiently, his leg bouncing along to _Cannibal Corpse_ as he scanned the passing pedestrians with narrowed eyes, but he didn't see anyone that even remotely resembled Yuri. Despite the fact it was barely eleven-thirty, Yuri's absence still made Otabek's stomach turn over nervously. _Will he come?_ He wondered, and Otabek hated how uncertain he felt when the thought passed through his mind again and again.

In spite of all Otabek's worrying, it seemed to be unfounded. As he sat there, the scent he now recognized as Yuri's distinct Omega scent invaded his senses, though compared to the few times he'd smelt it before, it seemed to be strangely muted for some reason. Considering Yuri's previous reactions, Otabek though that it might be better to not ask about it, and only just managed to arrange his face into something close to neutral when Yuri came around the corner.

Yuri was dressed in his street clothes this time, and it was not very different from how he used to dress before his disappearance. He wore a black T-shirt with a tiger head printed on the front, a black jacket with red leopard print pushed up to his elbows, black skinny jeans, and knockoff Vans slip-ons. The shirt was loose enough that it did not make the presence of his newest bodily acquisition as noticeable, but he still crossed his arms across his chest as though he was deeply uncomfortable. In an effort to make Yuri feel more at ease, Otabek forced himself to focus on the blond's face and nothing else.

“So, ice cream?” Otabek prompted, but Yuri's sullen expression did not soften at all. He looked like he'd rather be _anywhere_ but here. Otabek internally warred with himself as guilt over forcing Yuri to come out with him began to creep into his mind, but he dismissed it almost at once. He— _they—_ needed to discuss this.

To his prompt, Yuri grunted and looked over to the sign displaying the available treats, but when Otabek pulled out his wallet, his angry expression became even more pronounced.

“I can pay my own way, Beka,” he said shortly, and whipped out his own wallet.

“I never said that you couldn't,” Otabek replied, careful to keep his tone even as he tried to not let Yuri's anger get to him, though the barbs still stung, “I just wanted to treat you.”

“I don't need your charity,” he muttered, “I've gotten this far on my own just fine, and I don't need anyone's help.”

Otabek relented, and stepped back as Yuri ordered some sort of chocolate dipped cone, and he got an iced coffee. He moved as though to sit back down at the table, but Yuri shook his head quickly.

“Not here,” he said, and jerked his head towards the main street, “follow me.”

Otabek did not say a word, but merely nodded and followed his friend's lead down the street and to the lake's locks, which they crossed before Yuri led him down to some sort of false isle—a narrow concrete expanse fitted with grass, small trees, and picnic tables. There were a few fishermen fishing off it at the far end, but it was otherwise deserted.

Yuri picked one of the picnic tables about halfway down the isle, and sat down on top of it. Otabek sat next to him in the same fashion; he saw Yuri tense, and only relaxed again when Otabek inched back until there was almost a full foot of space between them. At first, Otabek wasn't certain how to start the conversation, but he knew that he wanted answers. He took a slow breath, then began to speak.

“Yura...” Otabek began, not looking at his friend, and instead he chose to stare into the plastic cup in his hands. He chanced a glance up, but Yuri would not meet his eye. “What happened...that day? When I saw the article that said you retired, I couldn't believe my eyes.”

“I told you,” he replied with a note of irritation in his voice, “I presented, Yakov dropped me like hot pirozki, and Grandpa smuggled me out of the country before anyone could figure out what happened. I had enough money saved from my competitions that I could take a plane out here, find a small town with a decent rink, and start over.”

“But...do they know that you're an Omega, here, I mean?” Otabek asked, and at his words, Yuri went rigid. He bit at the chocolate shell of his ice cream, and did not look towards Otabek.

“A few do...but most of my colleagues think I'm a trans woman, which is fine with me,” Yuri said softly, “better that than...” He trailed off as he shivered, and for a moment, Otabek was certain that he saw a flicker of fear in his eyes.

“Omegas are accepted here, Yuratchka,” Otabek reminded him gently, “certainly—”

“— _legally_ ,” Yuri interrupted with something close to a growl, “socially, I'm still as welcome as gangrene on the face.” He paused, and Otabek felt a surge of guilt rush through him. In that moment a look of horror crossed Yuri's face, as though he was reliving some past trauma. Otabek hated that he hadn't been there to help him through all this. “So, if this gets out, Beka...I already moved my whole life once, I don't want to do it again.”

“Yura,” Otabek prompted as he reached for his hand, but started slightly when Yuri's gaze snapped up in alarm. The fear was so intense that Otabek froze, then slowly backed off.

“Sorry,” Yuri muttered as he dropped his gaze again, “I just...I don't like being too close to Alphas.”

Otabek almost asked why, but something in Yuri's expression made him stop short. If he did not like being close to Alphas, certainly it was a great show of tenuous trust to come out to see him at all. There was a story there, Otabek could see it, but they'd only just reunited, and he didn't want to scare Yuri off.

 

Whatever it was, it could wait for another day.

 

“It's all right, Yura,” he replied as he leant back a little and sipped on the drink he'd bought. “There's no need to apologize.” He paused, and looked over at his friend. The compulsion he suddenly felt to close the distance between them and embrace him was almost overwhelming, and it took a great deal of strength to force himself to stay still. More than anything, he was terrified of accidentally scaring the Omega off. “I missed you; I'm glad that you're all right.”

Otabek wasn't entirely certain, but he thought he heard Yuri reply under his breath softly, “ _I missed you, too._ ”

 

~*~

 

An hour later, Otabek reluctantly bid Yuri goodbye, but the Omega looked more relieved than anything else when Otabek announced that he needed to be going. He tried to not feel too hurt by this reaction, though it was difficult.

 

Otabek spent the following two hours driving around the nearby towns in a rented car—his motorcycle was still on its way from Almaty to Montréal—to pick up the bare necessities, from used furniture at a vintage department store to actual groceries, and not more junk food.

After the furniture that he'd bought arrived and Otabek had real food in his fridge, the apartment began to finally look properly lived-in. It still had an empty house feeling to it, but given that he didn't plan to be here for more than a year, at most, Otabek didn't see much point in making it feel all that 'homey' to begin with.

Otabek gave the small apartment one more once-over, and content with how the place looked, Otabek made a grab for his sports bag.

Time to check out the local rink.

 

Otabek wasn't certain what to expect; he knew that the rink in question was affiliated with McGill University, and as far as he knew, though the school was among the top in the world, it was supposedly known for its _sciences—_ not sports. Thankfully, the Canadians always took their hockey very seriously, and he found that the rink itself was more than passable.

Otabek spent at least twenty minutes weaving through the labyrinth of the John Abbott College and McGill University campuses, so jumbled together as they were that Otabek had no idea where one ended and the other began. He eventually found a warehouse with green metal siding, and McGill's logo stamped onto the side, nestled between the college campus and a nearby high school.

He headed in, and found a bored-looking girl behind a partition with a skate sharpener next to her. Given that it was late spring, there were barely ten skaters on the ice, and at the sight Otabek felt himself relax a little. It was always easier to practice when the ice wasn't cluttered with other skaters.

“Admittance is two dollars,” the girl behind the counter said to him in English, and he fished his wallet of his bag, dug out the gold and silver coin, and handed it to her.

“Have fun, rink closes in four hours,” she said as she dropped the coin into the register.

“Thank you,” Otabek replied, and blinked in momentary confusion when her eyes widened a little. He wasn't certain what had alarmed her, but he chose to ignore it as he sat down to switch his boots for his skates. After so much time away from the ice, the crisp smell was sending a thrill of excitement through him; though he still exuded the same calm he was known for, internally, he was as giddy as a kid in a candy store.

He paid the girl an extra two dollars to have her store his bag behind her counter(still he ignored the way she was staring at him; he couldn't tell if the stare was a good or bad thing), then at last he removed his skate guards and took to the ice.

 

Despite the fact that he was a world-renowned skater and therefore used to crowds, press conferences, and reporters, Otabek always preferred to practise alone. He knew that he'd be stared at once he got going, and in major cities he was always swarmed by irritating, if well meaning, fans. He hoped that in this small town he wouldn't be recognized; during the off-season Otabek wanted peace, not chaos.

 

Otabek circled the rink twice to get a feel for it, then moved into a run-through of footwork and his jumps, spacing it all out well enough to keep himself from tiring out too quickly. It did not take him long for his clothes to feel completely soaked with sweat, and he discarded the pullover he'd been wearing, before he moved on to the flips while he strove to ignore the stares he'd begun to get from the other skaters on the ice.

 

Twenty minutes in, Otabek took a moment to breathe, and he was sipping out of his water bottle when he overheard the soft trill of a young girl's voice.

“Mummy, mummy, he's like the blonde girl!” she squeaked as they passed, and he heard the mother's soft laugh as she leant forward a little on her own pair of skates.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, but Otabek had a feeling that he knew _exactly_ who the little girl was referring to.

“The blonde girl that we see on Thursdays!” she trilled, “she comes and skates like him! Mummy, can I skate like that one day? Can I?”

They were too far for Otabek to hear the mother's response, but the mention of Yuri taking to the ice made him smile, though it was a bitter expression. To skate, but know that you could not compete...it must have been awful for him, and he felt his heart clench with anguish at how this had to happen to the one person who deserved it the least. The unfairness of it all made Otabek feel almost sick, and as he turned to get back to his practice to distract his mind, he found his passage abruptly cut off.

The man blocking his way was about his age and height, but so thick with muscle that it was almost like he was wearing hockey pads under his clothes.

“Hey,” he grunted in French, “you should go pro. I'm not into that faggy figure skating shit, but...you're good.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” Otabek replied in the same language, his voice dripping with sarcasm, but frowned at the slur. “If you think it's so _faggy_ I'd be happy to compete against you, see if you have the physical strength and balance to match me. Anytime, anywhere.”

The challenge was met with another grunt, and the giant Francophone skated off. Not long after, Otabek did the same.

_I should go pro_ , Otabek thought with amusement as he segued from an Ina Bauer into a runthrough of his footwork, _I haven't heard that one in a while._

 

_~*~_

 

It was well after dark by the time Otabek made it home, and after a shower and snack, he collapsed into bed with a groan. He would regret not stretching before bed in the morning, but for the moment he was too tired to care. He slipped under the covers naked, and tucked his arms under his pillow while he buried his face in the soft down, and his thoughts went back to the Omega that had hounded his thoughts so completely for the last few hours.

 

_What was he going to do about Yuri?_

 

To have him so close, but be unable to console him or help him in any way was well beyond difficult—it felt _impossible_.

All Otabek wanted was to extend a hand of friendship, perhaps more, if Yuri would let him, but at the moment, Yuri didn't want anything to do with him—he was afraid of him.

That alone hurt more than any skating accident ever could.

Otabek turned his head to the side and stared around his apartment, illuminated by Ms. Next Door's kitchen lights that she never turned off, and the thin sliver of the moon that hung overhead. He stretched out his arm and watched the light dance across the back of his hand.

 

“Yuratchka...” Otabek muttered to himself, “how can I get to know you again?”

 


	4. Grenade Jumper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Trigger Warning: there is a scene of violence and nongraphic sexual harassment/assault towards the end of this chapter. If you feel that you may not be able to handle or you are not comfortable reading a scene like that, at “As Otabek ran, it did not take long for the silence of the spring night to be broken by a cold jeer.” scroll down to “Yuri was shaking, and belatedly Otabek remembered Yuri's claim that Alphas made him uneasy, but as he went to pull back, Yuri clung to him harder.” to skip it.

Chapter Three – Grenade Jumper

 

Otabek's first week in Canada was quiet.

He did a number of seemingly meaningless tasks—he FaceTimed his coach, he worked out some kinks in his programs, and after he hooked up his internet connection, Otabek sat in his apartment, and did not do very much of anything, as his mind was still consumed with thoughts of a particular skittish Omega.

How could he get close to Yuri again without scaring him off?

The thought that the only real friend he'd ever had now feared him was both frustrating and distressing at the same time—Otabek had a vague inkling as to _what_ may have sparked this attitude, but he didn't dare think on it too long, as it made him want to go out and _hurt_ something. It also gave him a burning urge to go and find Yuri to make sure that he was all right. He had promised himself that he would not crowd the Omega, and rather let Yuri come to him, but his worries for him made following through with this sentiment twice as difficult.

 

Otabek had not forgotten the little girl's words from his first trip to the rink, and Thursday turned out to be a true testament to how drastically Yuri had changed since Otabek had last saw him.

When the fated day had finally rolled around, Otabek made sure to turn up early for his practice, as he was uncertain when Yuri might come by. Otabek went through his step sequences and pretended that everything was normal, and he tried to not think about the possibility that he might run into Yuri. This worked for about an hour, until in his peripheral vision he caught sight of a familiar blond skater taking to the ice.

Otabek did not immediately approach him, but watched from a distance as Yuri stuck in his headphones and proceeded into an adapted version of what Otabek recognized immediately as his _Agape_ Short Program.

 

One thing that had not changed, Otabek noticed at once, was Yuri's talents on the ice were still enough to leave him breathless.

 

Otabek was not the only one who had stopped to watch Yuri, and soon a small crowd had formed along the edge of the rink to watch him. He noticed right away that Yuri's technique had improved dramatically, and Otabek felt a flare of anger in his chest—if Yuri had still been allowed to compete, he would have positively slaughtered his competitors. Otabek curled his hands into fists and gritted his teeth in frustration—it was so unfair that Yuri had to endure this, the one person that Otabek felt deserved it the least.

Yuri was approaching the second half of the program when his thus far perfect performance took a nose dive.

Otabek had unfortunately not thought too carefully on what sort of reaction his presence might cause, and he learned the hard way that his presence in Yuri's life was more unwelcome than he'd originally thought. He watched the young man glance towards the small crowd just as he moved into a quad, and he spotted Otabek at once.

His alarm at seeing Otabek showed plainly upon his face, and it startled him out of his concentration—he fell hard.

Otabek watched him break his fall with his hand, and winced when he heard Yuri's soft yelp of pain. Without thinking, he rushed over to him.

“Yura? Are you all right?” he asked softly, but the concern in his tone was met only with an icy glare.

“F-fine,” Yuri answered, “I don't need your help.” He glared at Otabek as he stood on shaking limbs, and he whipped his right shoulder back in a move that Otabek recognized at once: A partial dislocation.

Yuri braced his arm against his chest, and he glided to the edge of the rink where he took his skates off one-handed before he slipped into his shoes.

“At least let me drive you to the hospital,” Otabek said as he followed Yuri off the ice, and his frown deepened when he caught the familiar look of rage that crossed Yuri's features.

“Leave me alone, Otabek,” Yuri growled in a dangerous, warning tone, “I don't need your damn help.”

Without another word, Yuri half-ran out of the arena.

 

~*~

 

Otabek did not see Yuri again in the days to come, but he could smell his distinctive Omega scent all over town—and more than once he caught a heavy whiff of it lingering around the doors to his building. He was certain that this meant that Yuri _wanted_ to see him, but did not seem to yet have the nerve to _actually_ contact him.

Yuri's indecision and clear fear was difficult to deal with, paired with Otabek's concern over his injury, but once more he forced himself to keep his distance. As difficult as it was, Otabek left Yuri alone.

 

The Thursday following his fall, Otabek took to the ice with little concern that he would run into Yuri. Dislocated shoulders—even partial dislocations—took months to properly heal, and it would be nothing short of suicide to get back into his skates when he had use of only one of his arms.

It therefore should not have surprised him when he saw Yuri, arm braced against his chest, stepping onto the ice.

Otabek felt a brief spurt of anger, and he skated over to him without a moment's hesitation.

“What are you doing?” he asked at once, and Yuri glared at him.

“ _Trying_ to skate. Get out of my way,” Yuri snapped back.

“You dislocated your shoulder a _week_ ago, Yura, what are you thinking?” Otabek demanded, and Yuri's eyes narrowed further at the use of the term of endearment in lieu of his real name.

“I'm fine,” he snapped his words again, his cheeks tinting pink in his anger, “what are you, my grandfather? I mean it, Otabek, _move_.”

“Yuri, what happened to you?” Otabek asked, his voice losing its angry edge, and softening with concern. Why was Yuri so determined to destroy himself? “I'm your friend, if you fall again you might seriously hurt yourself, why are you doing this?”

“It's none of your damn business, Otabek!” he snarled, and Otabek did not fail to notice how the other skaters on the ice had begun to give them a wide berth, as though they were catching.

At first, he thought that it may have been due to the fact that they were arguing, but after a moment, it clicked—they'd slipped back into speaking Russian without ever noticing, and he could see the looks of unease and confusion in the eyes of the other people on the ice. Given that it was Québec, he felt that he should have expected such a reaction, but it still caused him to just barely manage to stop himself from rolling his eyes at the blatant prejudice as he refocused his attention on his furious friend.

“You've been out of my life for _two_ years,” Yuri continued, practically seething in his rage, “you can't just come back in and try and run my life for me, which, by the way, is _my_ life.”

“I'm not trying to run your life, Yuri,” he muttered in a low tone, “I'm just worried for you.” Yuri's stony, angry expression did not change, but Otabek gave in to temptation this time, and rolled his eyes. He should have known better than to assume that he'd be able to appeal to Yuri's common sense when he was digging in his heels this hard. An idea came to him suddenly, and his mouth twitched at the corners.

“All right,” he said, “if you're as fine as you say you are, lift your arms.”

Yuri stared.

“What?”

“Lift your arms up over your head,” Otabek elaborated, and folded his arms across his chest and arched a brow, as thought to say, ' _I'm waiting.'_

Yuri glared at him suspiciously, then when an exasperated huff he moved to lift his arms up over his head. The left arm flew up naturally, but the right one barely made it halfway before Yuri was forced to stop with a hiss of pain. A small smirk graced Otabek's face before he had the good sense to try and stifle it, and the expression was met with another angry glare.

“Let me walk you home, Yura,” Otabek offered gently, “in the morning, I want you to go see an Osteotherapist.”

Yuri allowed Otabek to escort him off the ice as he spoke, but to the suggestion, he laughed out loud.

“How the fuck do you expect me to pay for an osteotherapist, Otabek? I work at a _depanneur_ for Christ's sake.”

“I'll cover it, you can pay me back,” he said at once, but instead of his words calming the Omega, they seemed to have the opposite effect.

“Like hell you will,” Yuri snapped, “I don't need handouts.”

“It's a loan, Yuri,” Otabek replied patiently, “I just don't want this injury—which is my fault by the way—permanently fucking up your performance.”

The words were out of his mouth before Otabek had completely thought them through, and a stricken look crossed Yuri's face, as though he had been slapped. In the heat of the moment, Otabek had quite forgotten that due to Yuri presenting as an Omega, he was barred from competing. They had made it off the ice during their discussion, and Yuri did not say a word to him as he pulled on his shoes, and he all but ran from the building, his anger and hurt at Otabek over his comment clear in every movement that the Omega made.

Otabek cursed under his breath at his own tactlessness while pulled off his own skates, and took just enough time to properly clean them off before he followed Yuri outside, intent on apologizing for what he had said.

Given that it was nearing ten o'clock it was already full dark outside, and in his haze of worry over his friend's well-being, it had only just occurred to him that he had not smelled Yuri's distinct Omega scent in the building, and as he stood in the arena's tiny parking lot, he could smell the trees, the fresh, country smell that usually came with small towns—he could also smell a faint aroma of cow manure, likely from a nearby farm, and he could smell that distinct freshwater smell from the lake—but he could not catch Yuri's distinctive Omega scent on the air.

It took Otabek a moment to realize that it wasn't that Yuri's Omega scent was faint—he could not smell it at all.

“ _Yuri, what have you done?_ ” Otabek hissed under his breath as he raced down to the bike path and prayed that he would find Yuri heading in the same direction. He could not pinpoint why, but had a very, very bad feeling about this.

As Otabek ran, it did not take long for the silence of the spring night to be broken by a cold jeer.

 

“Come on, sweetheart, one kiss, don't be shy, I won't bite,” a distinctly masculine voice called, to which there was no response.

“Yeah, babe, come with us, we'll make it _real_ good for you,” another voice said.

“You can't walk around with a sweet pair of tits like that and not let us have a feel—that wouldn't be fair!” a third voice chimed in.

Otabek's sense of foreboding sharpened with every step, and as the comments got more and more lewd, he broke into a run just as he heard Yuri's yelp of surprise and pain.

He turned a sharp corner where the bike path gave way to a T-junction that led to the main street of the town, and the tree-lined Maple Avenue. A large, beefy man, clearly drunk, had Yuri's arms pinned behind his back, which with his injured shoulder had to be very painful. Even in the dark, Otabek could see Yuri's eyes watering, and he felt another pang of guilt—this was all his fault.

Two other men stood in front of the man holding Yuri, one with an upper body shaped like an upside-down triangle, and the other was almost wider than he was tall, but clearly built thickly with muscle under all the fat. The one holding Yuri had a hand up his shirt, and the other had his phone out, clearly intending to film the assault, while the third one continued to cheer and guffaw at Yuri's predicament.

 

Otabek saw red.

 

How _dare_ these poor excuses for people touch what was _his_.

 

In his blinding rage, it did not even occur to him to correct himself, and his instinctual view of Yuri as his to dominate flooded his mind and muted his common sense as he raced towards them.

Before the trio knew what was happening, Otabek wrenched the phone from the fatter one's hand and slammed it into the pavement, then he ground the heel of his boot onto it, nearly snapping it in half in his fury.

“What the hell, man!” he yelled, but Otabek did not have any patience for dealing with these assholes in any way that might be considered civil. They'd touched Yuri— _his_ Yuri. They needed to pay.

The now phoneless man Otabek punched squarely in the throat, then brought up his knee sharply into his gut, and he tumbled to the ground, groaning and gagging.

To the one standing by and watching, Otabek kneed him squarely in the balls, so hard that it was something of a miracle that they didn't come flying out of his mouth. He collapsed next to his moaning friend, and Otabek levelled his gaze with the last one—the one holding onto his Yuri.

“Let him go, now,” he said evenly, and without emotion, “or I will ensure that you will _never_ be able to get it up for anything ever again.”

The fat man did not need telling twice, and he shoved Yuri at Otabek before took off at a run, waddling in his haste to escape a considerable amount of pain at Otabek's hands.

Yuri was shaking, and belatedly Otabek remembered Yuri's claim that Alphas made him uneasy, but as he went to pull back, Yuri clung to him harder. The red edge to Otabek's vision began to recede, and he embraced Yuri back as memories of his thoughts during the brief fight came back to him, and he shivered a little. It frightened him just how out of control his Alpha instincts seemed to become whenever Yuri was involved—in particular, his apparent need to _claim_ Yuri in some way was what scared him most of all.

 

_Yuri isn't mind to possess,_ he thought viciously as Yuri continued to hold onto him, _he's his own person, and he should decide who to be with, and when to be with them—I refuse to make that decision for him._

 

Deciding that it was best to not comment on Yuri's abrupt change in attitude, Otabek wrapped an arm around the Omega protectively, scooped up his bag and shouldered it alongside his own, then began to escort Yuri away from the darkened corner and to the illuminated main street.

Otabek did not speak, and merely allowed Yuri to cling to him, while he, in turn, kept the arm around Yuri loose and relaxed—anything to make him feel safe, and not trapped. Otabek counted the silence as a blessing—it gave him a moment to calm himself and try to work over what had happened, or at least what had sparked his violent reaction. He didn't want to have it happen again, and risk Yuri getting caught in the crossfire.

He led Yuri down the street, and slowed to a stop outside his building. He was reluctant to let Yuri go off on his own, and he led the Omega up the single cement step to his building, but Yuri offered up no resistance as Otabek unlocked the door and led him inside.

 

Upon reaching the apartment, Otabek steered Yuri over to the sofa, wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, and stepped back to the kitchenette to make him a tisane.

With a mug of chamomile-peppermint blend sitting on the desk next to him, Otabek grabbed one of his available chairs and pulled it up next to him. Yuri was still shaking a little, his hair was a mess, and he was carrying a haunted look in his eyes that Otabek did not like in the least.

“I'm not fucking helpless,” Yuri muttered after a few moments of silence.

“No, you're not,” Otabek agreed. He reached out for Yuri's hands, but when he flinched, Otabek backed off.

“Then why does this keep happening to me?” he demanded, his voice cracking a little, “I lose _everything,_ then I come here and some hotshot Alpha thinks he can—” Yuri cut himself off with an angry hiss, and Otabek caught the soft gleam of unshed tears in his eyes as Yuri grabbed the steaming mug and tried to hide his anguish behind it.

“You are not weak, Yuratchka,” Otabek said gently, “you are one of the strongest people that I have ever known. Had I been through what you have, I don't think I would have been able to do it. But being what you are, certain types of people—not me, but _some_ people—will see you as _vulnerable_. There is a difference. Like wandering around after dark, you're bound to attract attention. You're very attractive, and there are a lot of disgusting human beings in this world who believe that they can take advantage of it. It's not right, it's not fair, and until things get better, the only thing you can do is be street smart, as the saying goes.” Otabek paused, and again he felt that pull—that need to touch Yuri in some way. It was not a sexual desire, but more the need to console Yuri, and make sure that he would be all right. However, given how shaken he was, and his reaction to Otabek's earlier attempt at physical contact, he was fairly certain that even something as simple as a hand covering his own would not be welcome.

“Please, Yura,” Otabek said, breaking the silence, “just...please be careful. I do not blame you for what happened, please understand that, it is not your fault that people like _that_ feel that they can hurt you like that without remorse, but...please. I care for you, whether you want me in your life or not, it doesn't matter to me, I'll still lo—I still care for you,” he winced at the phrasing, but continued on as though he hadn't noticed. “There are a lot of terrible people that come out at night, and I don't want you to get hurt.”

Yuri's fair cheeks tinted a faint pink, and he stared down into the chipped mug in silent contemplation.

“Except you,” he said at last, and lifted his gaze to meet Otabek's eyes, “you're one of the good ones.”

Otabek felt himself flush a little at the compliment, and he offered the Omega a small smile, which he returned. It was a far cry from how their friendship had been before, but, at the very least, Yuri did not seem as keen to completely shut him out anymore.

It was a start.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Fun fact partially dislocated shoulders are not better in a week, and mine took seven months to heal with intense osteotherapy sessions and lots of drugs. Yuri's pain is not exaggerated in any way. Do not dislocate body parts. It's not fun.
> 
> _Depanneur_ or _dep_ is Québec French slang for a convenience store. Since Yuri has lived there for 2 years at this point, it seemed natural that he'd pick up on some of the slang.


	5. Truth or Consequence

Chapter Four – Truth or Consequence

 

Otabek was beginning to deeply regret his rash decision some two weeks earlier when he'd bought his sofa second-hand.

It was lumpy, and not uncomfortable in short spurts—but it was definitely not ideal for sleeping on all night.

Following their short talk, Otabek had lent Yuri some pyjamas and let him use his shower, and he slept in Otabek's bed while the Alpha had taken up residence upon his sofa. The bed was more than big enough for both of them, but in light of Yuri's most recent assault, Otabek did not think that the Omega would be keen on sharing his personal space at the moment.

 

Yuri had yet to explain at length what had happened with this unnamed _other Alpha_ that he had brashly mentioned the night before, though in hindsight that was probably for the best. Otabek was never an impulsive person, but with this, he was fairly certain that if Yuri had told him _who_ it was that had done this to him, Otabek would not think twice about hunting him down and castrating the bastard.

Otabek woke that morning sore and stiff in a decidedly unpleasant fashion, but he could not help the flare of desire that filled him at the sight of Yuri in his bed. His longing for the other man was not something new, it starting the first time that they had crossed paths at Yakov's camp all those years ago. His feelings for him had changed drastically at the Grand Prix Final in Barcelona, from deep admiration of his skill to something closer to attraction, and in his fitful search for him that had followed, his feelings only grew.

The fact that Yuri was so jumpy around Alphas made everything even harder.

Otabek refused to be one of those men who thought with their cock instead of their brain, and he was determined to wait until Yuri was receptive to it before he dared try anything.

And if he never was...well, that was all right too.

 

Yuri lay coiled around Otabek's pillow, his hair spread out loose across the bedsheets, with the comforter collected at his hips. The oversized T-shirt he'd borrowed from Otabek had hiked up sometime in the night, and Otabek was given a delightful view of Yuri's toned abdomen.

Otabek tore his gaze away from the enticing sight, and he padded softly to the kitchen and began to make breakfast for them as quietly as he could manage.

Forty-five minutes later, Yuri began to stir. He let out a low moan as he slowly sat up, and Otabek turned to him as Yuri stared blearily back.

“Morning,” Otabek said as he carried the serving plate over to the table, which was met with a sleepy grunt.

“What'd you make?” Yuri asked, and paused to yawn widely, “it smells like _Tandoori Express_ in here.”

“Ethiopian Crêpes,” he replied, and smirked a little at the confused expression on Yuri's face. “Spiced lentils inside savoury crêpes. It's not very authentic, but I think it's kind of close. There's coffee, too.”

The word _coffee_ was the incentive Yuri seemed to need to get out of bed, he straightening the oversized clothes that he was wearing as he went. The drawstring lounge pants hung precariously off his hips, and the T-shirt had slipped down a little, and it exposed one of his shoulders. Yuri's ample and highly distracting chest was something Otabek had yet to get used to, and he found it incredibly difficult to keep his eyes on Yuri's face, and not his breasts.

Yuri shuffled over to the table and accepted a mug of coffee from Otabek, and proceeded to dump an alarming amount of sugar and milk into the drink, and Otabek felt himself involuntarily gagging at the sight.

Otabek ate and drank his black coffee, while Yuri eyed the crêpes that he had made dubiously. At last, he picked up one of the little lentil-filled parcels and bit into it. The spark in Yuri's eye told Otabek that he seemed to like it, though he wasn't certain that Yuri was awake enough yet to let him know definitively one way or the other.

 

“How's your shoulder?” Otabek asked, and Yuri moved to shrug, but that small movement was telling enough as he winced at once. Otabek rolled his eyes, “did you even go to a clinic?”

“Otabek, it's not _that_ serious,” he groused, “I took some ibuprofen and iced it.”

Otabek didn't verbally respond, but bowed his head forward to pinch the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. _I swear,_ he thought, _I have no idea how he isn't dead at this point. He'd lose an arm and claim it was just a scratch..._

“I'm taking you to a clinic,” Otabek said firmly, “ _today_.”

 

~*~

 

It took a ridiculous amount of begging, pleading, bargaining, and, in Yuri's case, bitching to get him out of the apartment and into a clinic. Yuri point-blank refused to go to out in public in the clothes he'd worn the day before, and thus Otabek followed Yuri down the street, past all the restaurants, boutiques, and one bank to a corner of the street that held a family-owned convenience store and a derelict apartment building.

It was about four stories high, with black metal barriers around each balcony, and Otabek counted six tenants out smoking, all of them giving him the impression that anyone who lived here wasn't very high above the poverty line.

Yuri led him to the door of the building, a metal-framed glass door that looked almost new, and inside Otabek immediately choked, for the air reeked of cigarette smoke. In spite of the smell, the apartment building was surprisingly clean, and as Yuri led him up four flights of stairs to the top level, he began to feel a little guilty for his first misguided impression of the place.

They stopped in front of apartment number twenty-six, but before Yuri put the key in the lock, he held his key ring close to the door and gave it a sharp shake.

Otabek's confusion lasted less than six seconds, due to the fact that almost at once he heard a muffled meowing coming from the other side of the door.

Yuri opened the door at last, and as he stepped inside, two very fluffy cats wound around his ankles, meowing and looking up at him. Otabek had never owned a pet, but even so it was easy to tell that these two creatures adored Yuri.

The first cat was a faint golden brown, while its paws and face looked like they were covered in soot. The second one was ginger and white, mottled stripes of different shades of orange on its face, body, and tail, with the centre of its face and paws pure white—save a smudge of ginger on its nose, which made it look like it had dirt on its face, at a distance at least.

Yuri shut the door and ignored Otabek completely as he crouched to greet his cats. He ran his fingers through their thick fur, cooed at them softly in Russian, and chuckled softly when the ginger one jumped up, wrapped its paws around his wrist, and bit at his knuckle.

While Yuri greeted his cats, Otabek had a look around the apartment. It was roughly the same size as his, but with a balcony included. All of the furniture had clearly seen better days; it was battered, frayed, and rickety, and Otabek could smell the faint smell of cranberry and orange mixed in with the distinctive cat smell.

There was also an alarming amount of leopard print décor, which proved to him that some things never changed.

Yuri finally straightened up and fed them both, then went to his closet to fish out some fresh clothes. Otabek saw him covertly yank out a bra from the messy tangle of clothes and hide it under the shirt he'd grabbed, and Otabek felt a sharp pang in his chest. Yuri was clearly still very ashamed of presenting—not that Otabek could really blame him. When he'd presented, he'd lost everything—Yuri had more cause than most to be so awash with self-loathing.

Nevertheless, it was still painful to see.

Yuri slipped into his bathroom and stepped out not ten minutes later in black skinny jeans, black socks patterned with _The Misfits_ logo, a loose black T-shirt with a screen-printed tiger's head on it, and a black zip-up hoodie, with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His hair had been pulled away from his face in a loose braid, and the hood had been pulled up to hide most of his face.

“Ready to go?”

“Let's just get this over with,” Yuri grumbled while he crossed his arms and reluctantly followed Otabek out of his apartment.

 

As luck would have it, there happened to be a clinic in town that catered specifically to Alphas and Omegas.

Because of their unique biology, finding a doctor was often difficult, though it was usually worse in countries less accepting of them—Russia, Kazakhstan, America, and other places. In Canada, it wasn't as much of an issue, but seeking medical attention could still be something of a challenge. Otabek had to wonder if the clinic being so close was accidental, or if Yuri had chosen this town _because_ of the presence of the Omega-friendly clinic.

 

In the waiting room, Yuri signed himself in and sat down with Otabek, the look on his face giving the expression _sour puss_ a whole new meaning. He looked well beyond cranky by this point, and he crossed his arms sulkily while he glared at the tiled floor. Otabek bit the inside of his cheek in an effort to keep from laughing at his attitude, though he wasn't entirely certain how well he had succeeded.

People flitted in and out of the waiting room as names were called by nurses in pale green scrubs, and for a whole hour the pair sat in dead, awkward silence.

Otabek was checking the time on his phone (and six missed texts from his coach) when the awkward silence around them suddenly became very tense. He had not been paying attention, and suddenly Otabek felt the brush of Yuri's thigh against his own, a hand wrapped around his forearm, and he clutched tightly onto him. Even without these physical tells that told Otabek that something had frightened Yuri, his sudden sharp intake of breath would have been enough.

Otabek's gaze snapped up, and he saw Yuri staring wide-eyed across the room at a man about their age, maybe twenty-three at most, with inky black hair and fierce eyes. In many ways, his appearance reminded Otabek of JJ, but even JJ could not look so cold—so dangerous.

The man was smirking, and had his arm wrapped around a fresh-faced young Omega, the large swell of his belly leaving no one to doubt that he was with child, though the young man did not exactly look happy about it. The scarring on the Omega's throat told Otabek that he was bound to this man, but rather than feel indifferent to the fact that these two appeared to be a couple, he felt a deep chill run through him at the sight.

Otabek did not want to let this man in on how much his presence was scaring Yuri, and as covertly as he could, he slipped his hand into Yuri's and gave it a small squeeze. Yuri pushed himself up against Otabek's side, his hand so tense around Otabek's that he could feel his fingers beginning to go numb.

“Yura Plisetsky?” the nurse suddenly called, and the pair jumped up, Yuri all but running from the waiting room to follow the nurse, and with his fingers still intertwined with Otabek's, he dragged him along without thinking twice about it. Otabek did not look back, but he could feel the man's gaze burning into their retreating backs.

The nurse led them down a narrow hall and into a sterile examining room. She sat down at the little desk that had been set up opposite the examination table, and Yuri sat on the available chair next to it. Otabek sat next to him, and Yuri immediately took his hand again.

“All right, young man,” she said cheerfully, “the doctor will be in to see you shortly, but I just need some information from you first. Is that all right?” Yuri nodded stiffly.

“Age?”

“Eighteen,” Yuri answered, frowning a little as she scribbled it down.

“Gender status?”

“O-Omega,” Yuri said, his cheeks burning, and Otabek brushed his thumb over the back of his hand in an attempt to console him, but it didn't seem to help at all.

“Are you taking any prescription drugs?”

“Um, Trisodol, Omegsixet, and Molabriperon,” he replied, and the nurse's eyes widened a little, but she offered up no comment as she scribbled the names down. Otabek, too, was struggling to hide his shock. _Three_ very strong Omega pheromone suppressants? He'd never heard of an Omega taking so much before.

The nurse's questions continued, probing about Yuri's general health, his last heat, when he'd presented, and finished by taking his height and weight before she slipped out the door to get the doctor. As the questions got more personal, Otabek had moved as if to step outside, uncertain if Yuri wanted him to hear all of this, but when he tried to, Yuri's hold on his hand tightened.

Yuri bowed his head forward, and the stray hairs that had escaped the braid tumbled into his eyes. Otabek watched him grit his teeth and tears flood his eyes, though Otabek could not tell if Yuri was angry, sad, ashamed, or some mixture of the three.

Otabek opened his mouth, but he found that he had no idea what he could say that might make Yuri feel any better. He had never been known for being particularly talkative to begin with, and at times like this, he wished that he had more of a knack for it.

Before Otabek could come to a decision on what to say, the doors opened and a young female doctor stepped inside.

She could not have been more than thirty-six; her dark hair was pulled away from her face and cascaded down her back in a long ponytail, and she immediately struck Otabek as someone that they could trust.

“Hi there,” she said cheerfully, “I'm Doctor Choudry. What brings you in today, Yura?”

“I hurt my shoulder last week,” he replied reluctantly, at last pulling his hand from Otabek's in order to sullenly cross his arms across his chest. “ _He_ ,” Yuri jerked his head in Otabek's direction, “thinks it's a partial dislocation or something, but I think he's overreacting.”

“Well, we'll see about that, come on, sweater off and hop on up,” she said while she patted the paper-lined examination table.

Yuri stared at the table as though it had teeth, but after a moment he reluctantly shed his sweater and climbed up onto the table.

The T-shirt was more fitted than Otabek had first thought, and without the extra layer that the sweater had provided, the swell of his chest was much more noticeable. It was quite clear that Yuri was not thrilled by this, in particular the way he slumped his shoulders and crossed his arms in an effort to hide it. The doctor rolled up the sleeve of the shirt and poked and prodded at the muscle around the shoulder.

“Hon, I need to have a better look at the rotater cuff, do you think you could take off your shirt on one side?”

For the reaction she received to her words, she may as well have asked him to yank out his own fingernails with pliers.

“Yuratchka, I can wait outside,” Otabek said as he stood up, and for a moment Yuri looked conflicted, his lips parted a little as he gazed at Otabek, but in the end he dropped his gaze and nodded a little.

 

Otabek slipped out of the examination room without complaint, and sat back down to wait for Yuri to finish. He pulled out his phone, but was distracted from it almost at once when he saw someone plop down next to him in his peripheral vision.

When he turned to see who it was, Otabek gritted his teeth as he recognized the man from earlier—the one that had scared Yuri merely by being in the same room as him. At much closer proximity, Otabek found that he looked less like JJ than he first thought.

He had a similar facial bone structure to the figure skater that he knew and reviled, but that was where the similarities ended. His hair was black, his eyes were a pale ice-blue, and his teeth were very white and straight. Now that he was closer, Otabek could see his muscle straining against the fabric of the sweatshirt he wore, fitted, rather than loose, and Otabek found himself mildly unsettled by the cold, emotionless look upon the man's face. He was grinning at him, but it was as unnerving as a nasty sneer.

“What do you want?” Otabek asked, and the man's grin widened.

“Name's Michel. Bro, I'm gonna give you some advice,” he said, despite the French name, he spoke in perfect English. “Don't waste your time with that frigid bitch. I had him last heat season, and I fucking had to sweat blood to get a little touch. You want one more...accommodating. I can hook you up.”

Otabek curled his hands into fists and he clenched his teeth. His vision swam as his anger flooded every part of him, and for a moment it made him feel incredibly dizzy.

“I suggest you walk away right now while you still have all your parts in tact,” Otabek growled, “come near me or Yura again, and I promise you you won't have _anything_ to boast about.” Otabek spoke as evenly as he could, and he could see that this other Alpha could sense that he was not joking. His cold smile shifted into a dark scowl.

“Fine,” Michel spat sourly, “keep the bitch. I've got my own.”

“I've noticed,” Otabek deadpanned while his gaze fell to the pregnant Omega across the waiting room. His head was bowed forward a little, and he looked positively miserable. “He looks overjoyed.”

“He knows what Omegas are for, unlike your entitled little bitch,” he grumbled, and stomped back over to his pair bond.

At that same moment, Yuri stepped out of the examination room, and stared as Michel pulled his Omega close and glared at Otabek.

Otabek stood, and they walked in silence out of the building before Yuri spoke.

“Did I miss something?” Yuri asked shakily.

“Your... _friend_ was trying to convince me that it's okay to treat Omegas like they're less than human,” Otabek muttered, still riding out his waves of fury, “he wasn't exactly pleased with my response.”

“Oh,” Yuri replied as he dropped his gaze, and for the first time Otabek noticed a slip of paper clutched in his hand. He opened his mouth to ask, but Yuri got there first. “You were right, it's a partial dislocation,” he said, his face burning a little with embarrassment, “I've got myself a referral to an Osteotherapist covered under MediCare, and two months' worth of pain meds.”

“I told—” Otabek began, but Yuri was quick to cut him off.

“—say 'I told you so,' and I'll rip you a new butthole so big that you'll be able to fit a cannon up your ass,” Yuri grumbled, and grabbed Otabek's hand with his free one. “Come on, let's go.”

Smiling with amusement at Yuri's attitude, he allowed the Omega to drag him out.

 

~*~

 

Otabek returned home late in the evening after he made sure that Yuri picked up his Naproxin and made an appointment with the Osteotherapist. He complained the whole time that he did not need a babysitter, but he found that somewhat hard to believe—Otabek was certain that if he had not been there, Yuri would have blown it off.

He plucked an apple out of the fridge, then booted up his laptop. He had one goal in mind, and thankfully, finding the information that he needed was almost painfully easy.

 

_Association de la Protection des Omèga de Montréal (APOM)_

 

The web page listed everything Otabek possibly wanted to know about violence towards Omegas, both at the hands of Alphas (unbonded and pair-bonds alike) and of the general public.

Otabek grimaced as he scrolled through the listings, paired with delightful images of Omegas forced to carry children, beaten, and at least half a dozen memorial photographs on the main page. He felt deeply chilled, especially since this country was usually known as being a very welcoming place. At the very bottom of the home page, he found what he was looking for:

 

_Do you know an at-risk Omega? Click Here._

 

Otabek did so, and cheerfully filled out the form. It did not require much in the way of personal information, which was lucky, given that he knew next to nothing about the Alpha in question, and it was quite clear that Yuri was not keen to discuss it.

Otabek did not want to overstep his bounds and intervene himself, especially since he did not want to draw this _Michel's_ attention back to Yuri. But neither could he sit idly by and watch someone suffer.

His good deed for the day completed, he prayed that that Omega would be all right.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: All of Yuri's drugs are totally made up except Naproxin, that's a thing.
> 
> Roughly translated, Association de la Protection des Omèga du Montréal means Association for the Protection of Montréal Omegas.


	6. Waiting Out The Winter

Chapter Five – Waiting Out the Winter

 

As the weeks began to bleed together, Otabek was subject to a very strange, version of Yuri that he had yet to experience for himself, though had heard about in explicit detail from the Men's Singles Power Couple prior to Yuri's abrupt retirement—and JJ, for some reason.

Bébé lala, the Canadien had called him.

At first, it had been pure anger directed at Otabek for making him go see a specialist over his shoulder, and after the first visit, Otabek woke late to find his phone flooded with messages from him.

 

_I hate you._

 

_No, seriously, that woman is a monster. ARMS DO NOT BEND THAT WAY._

 

_Beka, why would you make me do this? I'm sore as fuck and it's all your fault._

 

_I feel like a fucking pretzel and MY ARM HURTS._

 

_I don't see how this is helping. You should see the weirdass 'exercises' I'm supposed to do._

 

With each onslaught of texts, rather than be irritated by Yuri's petulant behaviour, Otabek found it strangely endearing.

 

In the first week of July, Otabek woke early to one single, cranky text message.

 

_The meds aren't helping. When you get this come over so that I can complain to you in person._

 

Following it were at least fifteen photographs of his cats, interspersed with selfies of Yuri pouting like an overgrown child whilst holding an ice pack to his shoulder.

Shaking off his drowsiness, Otabek answered with a quick, _give me twenty minutes_ , before he performed his morning rituals of showering, shaving, and dressing, then grabbed a protein bar on his way out the door.

The tastes of chocolate and raspberry mixed in with his mint toothpaste as he headed down the street towards Yuri's apartment. The bright sunshine raining down from a cloudless sky warmed his skin, and more than a few locals had clogged the main street, taking full advantage of the warm weather, and he caught sight of more than a few people unabashedly checking him out as he made his way down the sidewalk.

 _You're wasting your time,_ Otabek thought with vague amusement, _I have eyes for only one person...who happens to be afraid of Alphas._

The train of thought was suddenly not very funny, and much more miserable. With Yuri's frank _I don't trust Alphas_ attitude, Otabek felt that actually _admitting_ to Yuri that he was attracted to him might be a very bad move. His mental state was still in shambles, and Otabek was loath to do anything that might make it worse. They'd only just reunited after all, and it would take time for them to get to know each other properly again.

This stern reminder carried him the rest of the way to Yuri's apartment, and he was buzzed in even before he hit Yuri's door number, which led him to wonder if Yuri had been watching for him. He headed up the stairs and stopped in front of Yuri's door, and gave it a shark knock.

“ _It's open!_ ” Yuri's muffled call came from the other side, and Otabek let himself in.

Otabek stood at the door, for a moment confused, because he could not actually _see_ Yuri. It was a small place, and with one sweeping glance he could take in every detail of the small apartment, but as he was about to call out for him, he saw the lump of blankets on the bed shift.

“Are you alive in there, Yuratchka?” Otabek asked as he kicked off his shoes and wove through two meowing cats to reach the bedside. His question was met with a soft groan, and he saw the top of Yuri's blond head peek out just enough to glare at him.

“Fuck you,” he grumbled, then fell back into bed. Both of the cats hopped up with him, the ginger one climbing on top of the mountain of blankets, while the other sat down by his head.

Otabek sat down carefully on the edge, watching Yuri carefully for any signs of unease, and moved to comb his fingers through the slightly tangled locks. When Yuri did not protest this action, Otabek relaxed a little, and contented himself to stroking Yuri's soft hair like he was some sort of overgrown cat.

“How are you feeling?” he asked after a moment, and the question was met with a glare.

“My arm hurts, I've got _bruises_ where that devil-woman therapist worked on me, and the meds aren't helping. How do you _think_ I'm doing?” Yuri groused, and Otabek struggled to swallow a laugh at Yuri's attitude.

“Let me make you an ice pack,” Otabek said, and Yuri grunted.

Stifling another laugh at his attitude, Otabek got back up and strode over to the fridge, opening the freezer compartment to find a stack of blue ice packs at the back. He grabbed one, wrapped it in the tea towel that he saw hanging by the sink, and brought it back over to the sulking Omega.

“Ow,” he mumbled as Otabek pressed the ice pack to his shoulder, but offered up no resistance, and reached up to hold it there himself. Yuri stared off into space, a look of complete misery on his face, while Otabek settled back down and reached out to stroke his hair again. Yuri's eyelids fluttered shut at the gentle touch, and he let out a soft, dejected sigh.

“What are you thinking about?” Otabek asked, his fingers slowly returned to untangling the mess Yuri's hair had become, but he did not seem to really notice.

“My life,” he mumbled, and shifted a little to get closer to Otabek, though he wasn't certain that Yuri was consciously aware that he was doing it. “I don't understand how things got so complicated. I mean, things were going so _well_ , I—I was a gold medallist, I could have gone to the Olympics, but then I...” Yuri clenched his eyes shut and hissed a curse.

“I'm not going to tell you that everything happens for a reason, or that your deity has some grand plan for you,” Otabek began, while he strove to ignore the dampness he felt upon his thigh. “The fact of the matter is we live in a world that hates us, and if they don't hate us to our faces, they will hate us behind our backs. The best we can do is live, and keep on living. The biggest _fuck you_ we can give to our oppressors is to be happy.”

“I wish there was more,” Yuri muttered as he leant into Otabek's touch. “I miss skating so damn much, I _hate_ that I can't compete on an international level.”

“If I got citizenship here we could enter the Canadian pairs skating,” Otabek replied mildly, and that earned him a swat on the thigh.

“I'm being serious,” Yuri replied, something close to a laugh in his tone, “I want...I want to show everyone back home that just because I am what I am it doesn't mean I'm less...or something.”

“That's a pretty big turnaround from not wanting anyone _here_ to know what you are,” Otabek observed, and Yuri shrugged in response to the comment, but grimaced immediately after.

“It was just a thought,” he muttered as the ginger cat moved to curl up on Yuri's chest, and he buried his fingers in its thick fur.

“What's his name?” Otabek asked, nodding to the cat. He had a feeling Yuri didn't want to discuss Alpha and Omega discrimination anymore, and his assumption was validated almost at once when he observed Yuri immediately relax in response to the question.

“ _Her_ name,” Yuri corrected, “is Misha.” He pointed to the light brown and black cat on his other side, “and that's Kisa.”

“Misha for a girl?” Otabek asked with an arched brow.

“I thought she was a boy when I first got her,” Yuri explained, “ginger cats are usually male, and boy did I ever get a surprise when she went into her first heat.”

The word _heat_ created an amazing change in Yuri's demeanour, and his whole body seemed to sag. He stared off into space, he stroked the cat in short, almost robotic movements, and he leant into Otabek's touch, his sudden bout of anxiety coming off him in waves.

Not that Otabek could blame him for his attitude.

If the clues he'd gathered so far were any indication, to say that Yuri's previous heat had been rough would be a massive understatement. Summer was progressing fast, and come August, he would have absolutely no control over his bodily reactions when he went into heat, and his scent as an unmated Omega would be like a homing beacon for every nearby Alpha.

Even out of the heat season, the pheromones Omegas gave off were powerful, and even with all the dampening drugs Yuri seemed to be on, his scent was still very strong. It made Otabek want him more, and it took a great feat of strength to take a mental step back and wait for Yuri to be totally comfortable with him again before he made any sort of move to show his desire for the younger man.

 _He looks pretty comfortable now, though,_ Otabek thought bemusedly as he looked down at Yuri, bundled up in his blankets, a cat on his chest and the other curled up next to his head, with his cheek propped against Otabek's thigh like he was some sort of living pillow. The sight warmed him, but he wasn't certain how much of this attitude was actually Yuri, and how much was the pain medication making him a little loopy.

Yuri's bleary gaze shifted from staring into space to staring up at Otabek. For a few moments, Otabek pretended that he hadn't noticed, but when Yuri did not look away, he met his eyes.

“Something on your mind, Yuratchka?” he asked, and immediately the Omega went beet red and looked away.

“Just thinking,” he muttered. He moved to roll on his side, forgetting both about the cat on his chest and his injured shoulder. Otabek saw the cat's nails dig in as she jumped off, and Yuri let out a sharp yelp.

“Are you all right?” Otabek asked as Yuri sat up sharply, a hand clutching his shoulder, his face screwed up with pain as the ice pack tumbled into his lap.

“Do I _look_ all-fucking-right to you?” Yuri snapped angrily, “my life is in shambles, my arm hurts, I haven't seen my grandfather in two years, I can't skate competitively anymore, everything sucks and I just—”

 

Otabek didn't quite know how it happened.

 

One moment, he was sitting and listening to Yuri lament on the turn his life had taken, and the next Otabek's mouth was on his. The waves of misery emanating off Yuri were like a foul stench, and for the first time in his life, Otabek followed his instincts instead of his rational mind, and every part of him screamed to console Yuri physically, as well as verbally.

However, the same instant that their lips touched, Otabek snapped back to reality. He jumped back from Yuri, his eyes wide.

“Oh, God, Yura—I'm so sorry, I didn't think...” he trailed off, but Yuri didn't respond, and merely stared at Otabek with wide eyes.

“How long have you wanted to do that?” Yuri asked at last, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Too long,” Otabek replied at once, unable to properly meet Yuri's eyes, “I'm sorry, I know Alphas make you uneasy and I didn't mean—”

Yuri threaded his fingers through the fabric of the front of Otabek's shirt and dragged him forward, kissing him hard.

Otabek was assaulted by two conflicting emotions as Yuri kissed him—overwhelming joy, and shock.

Despite Yuri's actions however, it seemed as though he was _not_ enjoying it.

“Yura,” Otabek said around the kiss, “Yuratchka,” he tried again, but still he received no response.

“Yuri, you're shaking.”

The use of his proper name accomplished what the pet names could not, and Yuri pulled away. He stared up wide-eyed at Otabek, not saying a word, and he carried the same shocked and terrified look of a deer facing a hunter. It was a look Otabek had never wanted directed at him, and he felt sick with remorse at the sight of it for allowing himself to do such a stupid thing.

“Yuri,” Otabek continued, forcing himself to use Yuri's given name to hold his attention. “Why did you kiss me?”

“What?”

“Why did you kiss me?” Otabek repeated. “You told me yourself that being near Alphas makes you nervous. You kissed me, and you're terrified. Why?”

“I don't know.”

“Yes, you do. Why?”

Yuri looked up at him, his eyes gleaming, and he was still thickly bundled in blankets. The lost, frightened look he saw on the young man's face was such a far cry from his old obstinate behaviour that it pained Otabek to see it.

“Because you wanted it,” Yuri answered softly, his eyes downcast and his fingers twisting through the fabric of the comforter draped over him.

“And I sometimes want things that are not good for me—or you,” Otabek replied simply. “What did you think would happen if you rejected me, Yura?” he asked, but Yuri did not answer. “Did you think that I would leave?” Still no answer, but Yuri looked away from him, his eyes growing even more glassy. “I wouldn't have, you know.”

“Don't pretend to be any different than... _them_ ,” Yuri said, clearly aiming to snap at Otabek, but it came off rather weak. “You...you...you're an _Alpha_. You only want one thing from me.” His gaze whipped back to Otabek, and he saw with an unpleasant jolt in his stomach that Yuri really _was_ crying. “Did you know? That day, in Barcelona, before the final, you asked me to be friends with you. _Did you know?_ ”

“No, I didn't,” Otabek growled, deeply hurt that Yuri seemed to genuinely believe that he was anything like the scumbag Alpha that they had met at the clinic. “I meant every word. I felt that we were alike. You had such strength, and you still do, whether you actually believe it or not. I lo—I care for you, Yuri, I don't want to hurt you.” Otabek was tempted to leave, let Yuri stew in his own juices for spouting such harsh words at him, but something told Otabek that it might be some sort of screwed-up test, a means for Yuri to see whether or not he was being sincere when he said that he wouldn't leave him.

Yuri glared at him, his expression stony and mistrustful, and the mound of blankets tightened around him.

“What will make you believe that I am not like the Alpha that...hurt you?” Otabek asked at last, though Yuri's wary expression did not falter at the question.

“If you don't turn into an animal at the heat season, maybe I'll believe you then,” Yuri said softly, this time unwilling to meet Otabek's eyes.

Otabek felt as though he had been slapped. To understand that Yuri was nervous around Alphas, and to be lumped together with those who had hurt him stung deeply, and he lurched away from the Omega.

Otabek wanted to take care of Yuri; he wanted to be the one who put him back together again, and he wanted to be the one to make him realize his strength once more. But with Yuri's wild mood swings, coupled with the hurtful jabs at him were beginning to wear on him, and with a heavy sigh, he realized that despite his unwillingness to do so, it was time to take his leave.

“Call or text me if you need anything,” Otabek muttered, and reached out to Yuri, before thinking better of the physical contact at the last moment, and retracted his hand. He stood in one fluid motion and headed for the door, ignoring Yuri's halting attempts to speak as he left, not even offering his friend a backward glance as he went.

 

~*~

 

Otabek had never considered himself an impatient or impulsive person, but over the past week, it took all of his strength of mind to _not_ go barrelling over to Yuri's apartment, if nothing else to make sure that he was still alive.

No calls, no texts, nothing.

The radio silence (or phone silence, as the case may be) was irksome, and all manner of horrible, worst-case scenarios jumped into the forefront of his mind in his brief time away—from Yuri accidentally electrocuting himself, to slipping in the shower, to spontaneously dying of food poisoning, and all of the horrific visions ended with Yuri's cats eating his face.

He shook himself out of the latest mental image, (Yuri choking on his breakfast) and slammed his hand down on the table.

“Fuck it,” he muttered to himself, and was up and halfway to the door before he jerked to a stop again, and looked down at himself.

He was still in his practice clothes from the day before, he hadn't showered, and his face was prickly with stubble.

“I'm not doing this to look good for him,” he muttered aloud as he backtracked to his closet to yank out some fresh clothes, “it's basic personal hygiene.”

 

After a shower, he dressed, daubed on some fresh deodorant, shaved, put a little product in his hair, and after bolting a power bar, he brushed his teeth thoroughly. Even without an audience his face was tinted pink with embarrassment at how the prospect of seeing Yuri filled him with a thrill of excitement, even if their last conversation did not end on a particularly positive note.

Otabek threw his leather jacket on over the black tank top, stepped into his knockoff Doc Martens, and slipped out the door.

 

His trip down the street to Yuri's apartment took no time at all, but his buzzing on the doorbell was met with no response.

_Okay, either he's ignoring me, or he's gone out. He's probably not dead._

Otabek struggled to reign in his mother hen-level worrying as he stripped off his jacket and layered it over his forearm as he began to sweat from the glaring sunlight, and pivoted on his heel to make for the convenience store first before he gave in to his panic.

The walk took less than two minutes, but to Otabek it felt more like an hour. The jangling of the door opening drew the attention of the employee, a punk rock teenage boy with 00 spacers in his ears and dimple piercings. He mumbled a bilingual greeting, and frowned when Otabek made a beeline for him, and he sullenly tucked away his phone.

“I'm sorry, is Yura in today?” Otabek asked in halting French, “I'm a friend of hi—theirs, and I need to speak with them.”

“She's in the back, hang on.”

The teenager tramped off, and Otabek listened to him switch to English, albeit with a very heavy Québecois accent.

“Yura! Someone's here to see you.”

“Who is it?”

“I didn't get his name. Some Russian guy or something.”

“Tell him I'm not here,” came Yuri's snappy reply, and Otabek frowned. “I don't want to see him right now.”

“I'm not a carrier pigeon, tell him yourself—and stop being such a baby and come out here and help me, for fuck's sake.”

“I _am_ helping you, asshole. I'm doing the beer fridge inventory again, since JF won't do it.”

“You know what I mean. I'm not letting you hide in here all day just 'cuz _one_ client made a comment about your tits.”

“Screw you,” Yuri growled, “it's not _no big deal_. It made me uncomfortable, and the boss said I can do this today, so I'm gonna do it. You deal with the customers.”

“You can't even lift the two-fours with your arm like that, how are you gonna...”

Otabek had heard enough however, and stormed out of the store. It was pretty clear that Yuri had no intention of coming out and talking to him, and he wasn't about to stand there and listen to him argue with his colleague.

 

~*~

 

 _This is all my fault,_ Otabek thought miserably as he headed home to grab his sports bag, intent on working out his misery on the ice, _if I hadn't kissed him like that, he wouldn't be avoiding me now._

Otabek slapped a blue bill into the hand of the girl behind the counter, and she accepted his bag, jacket, and shoes after he'd pulled on his skates.

The ice was completely empty today, and after cramming in his ear buds, he went into his warm-ups with _Lamb of God_ blasting in his ears.

 

Yuri.

 

It was amazing how one person could so completely turn his life on its head.

Otabek made a turn, but he did so too sharply, and a cloud of frost clung to his leggings. He gritted his teeth, and sped off to the opposite end of the rink, using the speed to break into a jump, but his mind was too clouded, and the Salchow turned into an epic wipeout, his thigh slamming hard into the ice.

Wincing from the pain, he stood up and shook it off, and tried again, only to wind up on his ass again.

“He distracts me when he's here, now he distracts me when he's _not_ here...” Otabek growled under his breath as he stood back up, and moved to cram his earbuds back in, but stopped short when he noticed a familiar blond watching him from the opposite end of the rink.

“With moves like that, it's amazing you didn't come dead last at the last Grand Prix,” Yuri observed as Otabek skated over.

“Yeah, well, a certain overdramatic someone has been making it difficult to concentrate,” he groused, and Yuri winced as though he'd been struck. “I thought you didn't want to see me?”

Yuri didn't answer straightaway, but instead rotated his shoulders (which turned out to be a bad idea, if the wince of pain that crossed his face was anything to go by) and stared down at the cement floor.

“I'm sorry, all right?” Yuri said as he looked back up, his green eyes blazing, but despite the fierce front, Otabek thought that in that moment he looked incredibly fragile. “I'm sorry I said all that shit to you, I'm sorry that said that I didn't want to see you, and I'm sorry that I was avoiding you. I know you're not like...like... _other_ Alphas—you were my friend first. I didn't mean it. I was just...”

“...scared,” Otabek finished for him when Yuri trailed off, and the Omega's frown deepened a little.

“How is it that you always know what I'm thinking?” Yuri asked as he propped his elbows against the white barricade and gazed up at Otabek. Otabek took a calculated risk, and inched a little closer.

“Maybe I'm a little psychic,” Otabek replied softly, “or maybe it's that you wear your emotions as plainly as that gaudy yet tasteful leopard-print shirt of yours.”

“Don't make fun of my fashion sense,” Yuri shot back in the same tone, his brow furrowing into a glare, “or I'll leave you to your lacklustre practice session in peace.”

“Now that would be the real tragedy, you leaving...”

Otabek was uncertain when Yuri had gotten so close, nor why he smelt so intoxicatingly good—of green tea, jasmine and oranges, intermingled with the scent that marked him as an Omega—but this time when Yuri kissed him, Otabek knew instinctively that he was not doing it just to please him.

Yuri's lips were soft, and carried some sort of tacky residue, like chapstick or lip butter, but the sensation was not at all unpleasant. His mouth was pressed firmly closed, and his kissing spoke of his inexperience, but instead of being a turnoff, Otabek found it endearing. Yuri reached blindly forward and gripped the front of Otabek's tank top, while Otabek kept his hands firmly planted on the barricade, afraid of what might happen if he touched the Omega—the temptation to take hold of him and never let him go was almost overwhelming, and he was uncertain whether Yuri was ready for that or not. The last thing he wanted to do was scare him away.

When they at last parted, Otabek did not miss the way Yuri's ample and highly distracting chest was heaving, or the way his face was flushed and his green eyes were mildly glazed over.

“What are you feeling, Yuri?”

Yuri blinked.

“What?”

“In this moment, right now,” Otabek explained, “what are you feeling?”

“Scared, confused, sad, happy, even more confused,” Yuri replied, but this time he did not meet Otabek's eyes.

“We should talk,” Otabek said simply, “let me get my skates off and we can...go somewhere.”

Yuri seemed to catch the unspoken invitation for him to choose where they should _talk_ in a place where he would be most comfortable.

“Your place,” Yuri replied at once, and his face went a little pink at how quick the answer was.

“Are you sure?” Otabek asked while he cocked an eyebrow. Yuri bowed his head a little, and picked at a splinter of wood jutting out of the barricade.

“No, but...I like your place. It smells like you, and...and I feel safe there.”

Otabek reached out and brushed his gloved hand across Yuri's cheek. The Omega blushed a deep crimson again, and turned his head away from Otabek, as though the loving caress was too much for him to handle.

Swallowing a small smirk, Otabek wiped off the ice from his skates and put the blade guards on before he stepped off the ice and crossed to one of the benches to pull off his skates and slip back into his boots. He accepted his bag back from the girl behind the counter and slung it over his shoulder before he took Yuri's hand in his, and led him out of the arena.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I don't know about other French-speaking parts of the world, but in my province 'bébé lala' is a term meaning someone who is just being a big baby about something. And Canadian is spelled with an 'e' on purpose, it's not a misspelling. Canadien is a quick way to refer to someone who's French Canadian. (Which is why the habs is spelled Montreal Canadiens, not Montreal Canadians.)
> 
> A two-four in this context means a case of 24 beers, not a two-by-four.


	7. Comfort Zone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This was supposed to go up next week, along with an announcement that I'm going up to weekly updates as the first draft is thiiiiiiiis close to being done, but I got so excited about Welcome To The Madness that I just HAD to post early. This is also a really short one, so sorry in advance v.v

Chapter Six – Comfort Zone

 

The walk back to his place took barely ten minutes, but with Yuri at his side it felt much longer than that. The more time that passed, the more Yuri began to feel like _his_. Otabek struggled to separate what was normal protectiveness of a partner, and what was his Alpha instincts surging into a possessive mindset of the Omega that he wanted so desperately. He did not show this, however, and projecting an air of calm to Yuri was one of the hardest things he had never done, for if the clammy palm against his own was any indication, this small move towards an intimate relationship with anyone—even Otabek—was less of of a small step for the Omega, and much more like he was trying to clear a canyon pass by taking a running leap.

Otabek's long-downtrodden and blatantly ignored Alpha instincts continued to rage inside him like a hurricane. It amazed him just how difficult it was to maintain his calm outward demeanour, and not indicate to Yuri what he _really_ wanted to do to him in that moment—regardless if they were in public or not.

Images came unbidden to Otabek's mind as they walked, all his desires for the younger man bleeding together all at once in a confusing mess of fantasized scenarios— _rough kisses, Otabek's hands, tongue, and teeth exploring every inch of Yuri's Omega body, Yuri crying out—not in pain, but in pleasure..._

A sudden lancing pain in his jaw dragged Otabek from his fantasies, and his front teeth, his canines, as well as his incisors all ached. They felt strangely large heavy in that moment, as though his mouth was too small for them.

Still maintaining a neutral expression so as to not alarm Yuri, Otabek extended his tongue and ran it along the edge of his canine curiously. Without even an ounce of pressure, his tooth sliced through the tip of his tongue like it was made of butter.

Otabek gasped sharply as the taste of blood filled his mouth, and he suckled on the tip of his tongue to stay the bleeding. Yuri looked up at him as brow furrowed curiously.

“Beka?” he prompted.

“'M fine,” he muttered quickly, and though Yuri did not seem to completely believe him, he did not press the issue. Otabek was grateful for this, because the moment his tongue had been cut open, he had figured out exactly what had happened.

His teeth sharpening, almost as if by magic in its fast metamorphosis, were designed for one thing, and one thing only.

 

To pierce flesh.

 

In particular, to bite and mark an intended mate.

 

It alarmed Otabek just how quickly his instincts had taken over his idle fantasies. As he forced himself to calm down and direct his thoughts to other things, pain filled his mouth again, and his teeth went back to normal, much to his relief. The momentary panic had flooded Otabek so completely that for a moment, he hadn't realized that not only had they stopped walking.

They stood directly in front of the door to his building, and Yuri was watching him expectantly. Otabek shook his head several times in an effort to clear it, and let go of Yuri's hand to pull out his keys and unlock the door, holding it open for him before he followed the Omega in.

Following Yuri up to his apartment was almost as bad as touching him, Otabek realized belatedly, as Yuri's intoxicating Omega scent wafted down to him. Yuri's body from the back still looked predominantly male—broader shoulders than what one usually saw on a woman, a straight waist, almost no hips—save for the slight curve at his chest, it was _all_ male.

But even with all of Yuri's suppressants that he was taking, he still smelt positively divine. The Omega scent seemed stronger, which Otabek attributed to the impending heat season, and once again he found it terribly difficult to reign in the impulse he had to lurch forward and just _take_ Yuri right there.

Otabek shook his head violently.

What was _happening_ to him?

He had known of the stereotypes of Alphas—creatures enslaved to their base desires and nothing more—but he had always put very little stock in them; they had to be prejudicial propaganda spewed out by hate groups, for he had never acted that way before.

Now, he began to wonder.

In the last few weeks, Otabek had not failed to notice how his carefully constructed willpower, especially where Yuri was concerned, was crumbling before his very eyes. No matter what he did, eventually he would be unable to hold out any longer, and he would cave to his needs—the need to see Yuri, to kiss Yuri, to touch Yuri—and that, more than anything else, terrified him. What would happen during the heat season, when Yuri's Omega scent would be like a beacon to any Alpha within scenting distance? Would Otabek be able to control himself, or would he hurt Yuri as surely as those _others_ had?

The idea of hurting Yuri in any capacity was completely abhorrent to Otabek. The idea that it _might_ happen regardless of how he felt—that he might lose himself and hurt the only person he'd ever felt so strongly for utterly terrified him.

 

Yuri stepped aside as Otabek moved in front of his door to unlock it, and their arms lightly brushed together in the process, causing another rush of desire—no, not desire—something closer to desperate _need_ —course through him. Otabek felt in that moment as though he needed Yuri as surely as he needed food, water, and sleep.

Trembling slightly, he stepped inside and held the door for Yuri, who entered and made a beeline for Otabek's sofa, while Otabek pulled his coconut water mixed with pineapple juice from the fridge, and held it up as though to offer some to Yuri, but his wrinkled nose at Otabek, which was enough of an answer for the Alpha. Chuckling slightly, he got Yuri a glass of water, and carried the two drinks over, and it was only after he had sat down next to his companion that they tried to start a conversation.

 

Yuri spoke first, in halting, jerky syllables rather than full words, and he sipped his water so often that he had drained the glass in under three minutes.

“I—I know that you want me, Beka,” Yuri said, his face turning scarlet as he spoke, and Otabek looked away from him guiltily. “I can sort of...sense it—I think it's an Omega thing, but I'm not completely sure. I just can sort of...well, sense it.” He winced as though he was embarrassed that he'd repeated himself, but pushed forward without waiting for Otabek to reply.

“Last heat season...it was bad,” Yuri continued, his voice dropping in volume, so much so that Otabek had to lean forward slightly to properly hear him. “This Alpha was sort of courting me, but I didn't really know it at the time. I'd only been out here for about a year, and I was still learning about all this Omega and Alpha shit. He just sort of hung around a lot, and hit on me, but I didn't think much of it. Then...”

Yuri broke off abruptly, and when Otabek turned back to look at him, he was startled by the look of absolute horror he saw in Yuri's eyes. The Omega was staring at his knees, his eyes were wide with terror, and he had buried both of his hands in his hair, and was gripping it so tightly that his knuckles had gone white. Otabek felt a strong compulsion to reach forward and hold Yuri in an attempt to reassure him, but it was quite obvious that Yuri would not appreciate being touched right now, too lost as he was in terrifying memory. He watched Yuri and bit the inside of his cheek to distract himself from the urge to reach out. Thankfully, Yuri began to speak again, and his voice was enough to effectively distract Otabek from his own desires.

“It was my first heat,” Yuri continued, “and the clinic offered to sedate me for it, let me sleep through it in a safe space away from any Alphas, but I was certain that I could handle it on my own. I wasn't home by myself for more than an hour when the heat hit, and— _God, Beka..._ ” Yuri released his hair to bury his face in his hands as a small, terrified sob escaped him. “He came, he didn't even fucking _say_ anything, he just started yanking at my clothes and—and—”

“Yuri,” Otabek said his name softly, and Yuri looked up, his face lined with grief and shame, and even from where he sat he could see that the Omega was trembling. “Did he...I mean, did he rape you?”

Yuri shook his head mutely, and Otabek's shoulders sagged a little with relief.

“He tried,” Yuri replied shakily, “he really, _really_ tried, but I fought. It was _so_ hard because I was so dizzy and everything hurt but I was also _so_ aroused for no reason and it was so confusing and...” Yuri suddenly shook his head violently, like he had water in his ears. “He had me pinned down and I kicked him hard in the stomach and he got off me just enough for me to wiggle out from under him, and I took off.

“I went straight to the clinic, and they seemed to figure out what happened, and they got me a safe room for the rest of my heat. After, they kept trying to get me to _open up_ to _talk about it..._ ” Yuri sneered the latter phrases, his voice dripping with disgust, “I didn't want to talk about it. I didn't want to even _think_ about it. I was just glad that it was over.”

“Then why are you telling me?” Otabek asked uncertainly; Yuri looked up at Otabek again and shrugged noncommittally. Otabek frowned.

“Don't bullshit me, Yura,” Otabek said sternly, “you just told me something huge that up to now you didn't want to talk about at all. Why are you telling me now?”

Otabek had a feeling that he knew the reason behind Yuri telling him the precise reason _why_ Alphas made him nervous, but he knew that Yuri needed to say it, not just think it.

“Because...because...” Yuri trailed off and shook his head again, “oh, fuck, you know why. Because I—I want you in my life and you need to know everything if we're to have any hope of not fucking this up.”

“You know that I'd never intentionally hurt you, Yura,” Otabek said, and after a half-beat of hesitation, he reached forward, his palm up. Yuri stared at the hand for a moment, then rested his palm against Otabek's and they threaded their fingers together. “But we are not like normal people. We are Alphas and Omegas. Our instincts rule us more than we would like, and at heat season, I don't know what will happen.”

“Are you trying to scare me?” Yuri asked shakily, “because it's working.” Yuri glared at Otabek, but Otabek's mask of calm did not waver.

“No, I don't want to scare you,” Otabek replied, “I just want you to remember that. I'm not— _him_. I don't want to hurt you or force you into _anything,_ but my Alpha instincts are sometimes difficult to control when I'm around you. I've never had to try to control them before, I didn't know any Omegas before you. In Kazakhstan it wasn't exactly ideal for me to embrace my heritage.”

“Or Russia, as you know,” Yuri muttered darkly, and Otabek nodded wordlessly.

“I just mean that while I'd never want to hurt you, at heat season, there's every chance that I might lose myself and do just that,” Otabek explained, “so, I think we should talk about it.”

The words tasted sour in Otabek's mouth, and he felt positively sickened with himself as he voiced them. All he wanted, more than anything else, was to gather Yuri into his arms and never let him go. Speaking practically like this hurt, especially because he wasn't lying or exaggerating. If his reactions—both physically and mentally—to Yuri right _now_ were this intense, there was no telling what might happen when the heat season actually came.

Past heat seasons barely registered in Otabek's mind as significant events when he thought back on them. Like with many other things, Omegas experienced heat seasons much more intensely, and went through two weeks of absolute sensory overload, while Alphas, without undergoing any intermediate process of change, would only feel the season if a ready unmated Omega was near.

Otabek tried to swallow his disgust at how unfair it all was—that Yuri had to suffer like this while he could continue living his life as though nothing had changed—and attempted to focus on what needed to be discussed.

“I—I don't know if I'll be ready to be near you that soon,” Yuri said, his hand clutching onto Otabek's tightly, but he did not look up at him. “Heat season is barely a month away, and...and...”

“Yuri, I'm not him,” Otabek reminded him, feeling slightly sick as he spoke. He wasn't certain whether even _Yuri_ knew how badly his encounter last season had damaged him. It was apparent in every move he made, every gesture, the way he winced if Otabek moved too suddenly, or spoke with anger. Yuri was as skittish as a fawn, and Otabek hated that there was so little he could do to help him with that. “If you're not ready, you're not ready,” he continued, his voice calm and reassuring despite his own frustration—not at Yuri, but at himself—for his inability to do more for him. “I'll leave you alone until the heat is over.”

“But _can_ you?” Yuri asked, a note of fear in his voice. “You said yourself that you don't know how you'll be at heat season, what if you come tearing over, and—”

“I do have _some_ control over myself,” Otabek snapped, more harshly than he had intended to, and Yuri cringed. Otabek quickly softened his tone before he continued. “If I see you during your heat, I might not be able to completely control my desire for you, Yura. But if you want me to stay away, I will absolutely stay away. I would never want to push you towards something that you truly do not want, or do not feel ready for.”

Yuri mumbled something, but it was too quiet for Otabek to hear.

“Yuri, what was that?”

Yuri went very pink, and shifted closer to Otabek.

“This can't be real,” Yuri said softly, and his hand tensed in the Alpha's again.

“Why can't it be real?” he asked, and moved a little closer to Yuri, just enough so that their knees lightly bumped together.

“It's like...like a fairy tale,” Yuri explained, his voice heavy with embarrassment as he spoke, “you keep showing up and saving me from others, or from myself.”

“Are you saying that I'm your Prince Charming?” Otabek asked softly as he lifted his free hand and brushed his fingertips along Yuri's cheek. The Omega shivered a little under the touch, but didn't pull away.

“I don't know what you are,” Yuri replied honestly, his eyes a little wide, but there was no fear in them. “Prince Charming, knight in shining armour...”

“How about I be Otabek, and you be Yuri,” Otabek interjected gently, “no princes, no knights, just us, and whatever comes with that.”

“I like that,” Yuri smiled as he said it, and without another word, the Omega closed the distance between them with a soft, tender kiss.

 


	8. Things Fall Apart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: **Warning** this chapter contains a scene involving kidnapping, slut-shaming, and sexual harassment and assault. This takes place in the first half of the chapter, and if you feel that this will be something that you cannot read, skip to the first page break (~*~) to avoid it, which is where it ends.
> 
> Since this fic takes place in my hometown, I've been considering going around town to take photos of some areas where some of the major plot points happen, like the ice cream place, and the arena, and things like that. Would you guys be interested in seeing that? Let me know in the comments! :)

Chapter Seven – Things Fall Apart

 

Otabek had never been one to mark the seasons very closely, nor was he the type to lament on how _fast_ Summer always seemed to go by, but with August approaching at lightning speed, he could not help but feel particularly anxious this time around. With each day that passed, Yuri did not look any more at ease about the upcoming heat season, and in fact had dissolved into a complete nervous wreck.

Otabek didn't blame Yuri for this, nor did he feel personally offended by his reaction, either. Yuri had more cause than most to fear the heat season, and Otabek was well-aware that this had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with what had happened to him the previous summer.

As the season came closer however, Otabek was privy to his own physical reactions to the impending season for the very first time in his life. He did his best to hide this fact from Yuri, which was proving much more difficult than he would have expected it to be. It was not that he _wanted_ to hide things from Yuri or keep him in the dark, but he felt that there was only so much that his companion—or boyfriend, he wasn't entirely certain what Yuri _was_ to him—could reasonably handle, regardless of his claims that he was _fine._ Otabek felt that informing Yuri of his deep, heartfelt desire to bend him over the nearest flat surface and claim him was likely _not_ a good idea, and instead he swallowed his longings behind a neutral mask while he tried to focus on helping the Omega keep his head as the season approached.

 

It was a rainy July afternoon when Otabek once more found himself assaulted with these unwanted, quasi-violent urges, of desires to seek Yuri out and _take_ what he wanted of him, instead of asking for it like some sort of civilized human being. Thoughts of Yuri danced through his mind—not of the bright smile he seemed to reserve only for Otabek, or the grumpy albeit endearing way he looked when Otabek dropped by unannounced when it had been clear Yuri had been napping—these were visions of Yuri with significantly less clothes, his head thrown back in blind ecstasy, while he pleaded with Otabek to _not_ stop...

Shaking a little from the sudden _need_ he had to see Yuri, Otabek had gathered up his sports bag and rushed to the arena, determined to work off his sexual frustration before he broke down completely and sought out the object of his desires.

 

Barely half an hour into his practice, after landing his triple Salchow— _finally—_ on the fifth try, he abruptly tensed and skidded to a halt as a very familiar scent washed over him.

 

Yuri.

 

The scent of the Omega surrounded him like a cloying perfume, and he felt his desire claw its way to the surface of his mind again. Otabek took a shaking breath as he turned to see Yuri leaning against the wooden barrier, dressed so uncharacteristically that it took Otabek a moment for his mind to catch up with what he was seeing, and verify that he was not, in fact, hallucinating.

Yuri stood at the opposite end of the rink, the point farthest from the girl in the booth, and he was wearing a thin black cardigan, the garment's sleeves pushed up to his elbows, but it was what he wore _under_ it that drew Otabek's eye, for it was a tight, leopard-print tank top with a sweeping neckline that showed off his usually hidden and distinctively _Omega_ physical attributes. Otabek also noted that he was wearing a lacy, lime-green push-up bra underneath the top, the edges of the thing tugged upward _just_ enough for Otabek to be able to see its colour and style, which only made Otabek's desire to keep a physical distance from Yuri next to impossible.

Otabek skated over, almost zombie-like, and stopped just shy of Yuri while he tried to figure out what to say that wouldn't make him sound like a gibbering teenager.

“This is a new look,” he said at last, and when his voice escaped him sounding terribly hoarse, Yuri smiled bashfully.

“I...um...”

“Wanted me to skate right into the barricade at full speed because I was too distracted by how incredible you look to remember how to stop?” Otabek asked, arching a brow, and Yuri blushed a deep crimson. Otabek took a slow, shaking breath, painfully aware of how tenuous his control over himself was at that moment, and he shoved his hands in his pockets before he continued to speak. “What brought this on?”

“I don't know...”

“Yuri, you're not seven, that answer doesn't work anymore,” Otabek deadpanned, “why?”

Otabek waited, and for almost a full minute Yuri was silent. Otabek could see panic register in his eyes as he panted nervously, causing his ample chest to heave in a very distracting manner. In his pockets, Otabek curled his hands into fists.

“I don't know,” Yuri repeated, “I mean, not really.” The Omega didn't look at Otabek, but instead trained his gaze on his feet. “When I got up today I just had this... _urge_ to...to...”

“...dress like a slut?”

The third voice jarred Yuri and Otabek from their bubble, and they both whipped around. Standing there, drinking in Yuri's form with unabashed lust in his eyes, was Michel.

The presence of the other Alpha was enough to make Otabek's skin prickle, and he glared at the man as he closed the distance between himself and Yuri, but did not physically touch him—yet. Yuri, seemingly on instinct alone, reached out and grabbed onto Otabek tightly, his eyes wide and his face very white.

“Look at you, Yura,” he said, a sneer in his voice as he took a step forward, and Yuri's hold on Otabek tightened. Once again, Otabek felt a surge of hatred for this man—this _monster_ who had taken everything that Yuri ever was—his strength, his attitude, his self-worth—and ground it into the dirt. This terrified shell before him wasn't his Yuri—it _couldn't_ be. “You cling to the first Alpha that comes along, trying to replace what we had, how I made you feel...”

“All you made me feel was nausea,” Yuri snapped, his voice badly shaking as he spoke, and Otabek watched the way his expression seemed to flicker back and forth between fear and anger. It was clear that he was determined to not show this Alpha his fear, but he seemed to struggle to maintain the expression for more than a few seconds before it began to crumble.

“You don't mean that,” Michel replied as he reached out a hand for him, and this move was the last straw for Otabek. He quickly withdrew his hands from his pockets and extended both his arms at once: One wrapped around Yuri and tugged him awkwardly against his chest, the wooden barrier still in their way, and with the other he closed his hand around the other Alpha's wrist, hard enough that he was certain it had to hurt.

“Do _not_ touch him _,_ ” Otabek growled. _He's mine._ The thought stayed firmly in his throat; this man already considered Yuri and all other Omegas as little more than toys for him to play with, and Otabek was certain that voicing such a remark would be playing right into his hands—not to mention that any thought process that was in any way similar to this other Alpha made Otabek sick to his stomach.

“What are you gonna do about it, _twirl_ at me?” Michel sneered, and before Otabek could stop him, he reached out and grabbed hold of Yuri, and proceeded to drag the Omega out of Otabek's grip to press Yuri flush against him, one hand around his wrist, the other at the Omega's throat. Still stuck on the ice, Yuri was well out of Otabek's reach.

 

“ _Yuri!_ ”

 

“Beka, hel—” Yuri's plea was cut off as the other Alpha squeezed his throat in warning, and his voice choked to a stop.

“I think I'll _hang on_ to my Omega this time around,” Michel purred as he took another step back, dragging the Omega with him, and Yuri's eyes bulged with fear. “You won't get rid of me this time around,” he growled at Yuri, and without another word, he proceeded to back out of the Emergency Exit, with the Omega struggling violently against his hold, his eyes wide and fearful as he reached out helplessly for Otabek.

Horror-struck, Otabek shot to the opposite end of the rink at lightning speed, almost going ass-over-teakettle in his haste to jump from the ice and into his shoes. He stopped just long enough to ask the girl to call the police, but hissed a curse when he saw the stall where she usually stood was empty, and all that was there was a simple _back in five minutes_ sign.

_Typical,_ he thought angrily as he left his bag behind as he raced out of the doors of the rink and circled the building, looking through the curtain of rain for the pair of them.

With the heat season so close, Yuri's Omega pheromones were even stronger than they usually would have been, and though he could smell Yuri, he couldn't see him, and the heavy rain was muddling and confusing the Omega scent, making it even harder for Otabek to pinpoint their whereabouts.

Otabek skidded to a stop by the door that the Alpha had used, and he felt his shoulders sag with minor relief, for there were a number of squelching footprints in the muddy grass. He hastened to follow them while he yanked out his phone at the same time, and he addressed a text to _Secours Québec._

 

_9-1-1_

_Person Om_ _è_ _ga en danger, campus de CEGEP John Abbott. SVP Police et un ambulance. Pr_ _è_ _s de l'Arena._

 

Within seconds, Otabek received an auto-response informing him that help was on the way, and to send forward any more information about the state of the victim as needed. After he made sure that his GPS was on so that the police could track it, he hurried ahead and followed the footsteps carefully. Far sooner than he expected, Otabek had no need to keep his focus on the ground as he heard Yuri's distinctive yelp of pain from ahead of him.

The sound spurred Otabek forward, and he found Michel and Yuri standing over a dilapidated wooden picnic table, partially sheltered beneath a tree. Its white paint was peeling, and a number of rusty, jagged nails were poking out of the rotting wood. Yuri was bent partway over one of the sides of the thing, his injured arm twisted behind his back, his jeans and underwear yanked down to his mid-thigh, and the Alpha's free hand was pawing at Yuri's chest so roughly that it was almost certain to bruise.

“ _No—nooo, please, please, don't..._ ” Yuri cried, clearly too incapacitated by the pain in his arm to fight back, and even through the curtain of rain, Otabek could see tears in his eyes.

“I don't need to wait for August,” Michel growled as he ignored Yuri's feeble pleas, “I'll have you _now._ ”

“There will be no _having_ of any kind!” Otabek growled as he stepped forward, his eyes narrowed at the other Alpha.

Michel's gaze snapped up at the sound of Otabek's voice, and he glared at him as he released Yuri, and the Omega gripped weakly at the table, sniffling pathetically as he yanked up his pants and wrapped his sodden cardigan more tightly around himself.

“What part of _no_ did you miss?” Otabek asked as he took another step towards Michel, “Yura was calling it out pretty clearly from where I was standing. Did you maybe go deaf?”

“I don't need to listen to him,” Michel snapped back, “he's just an Omega. If he's not presenting me his ass or carrying my child, what the hell else is he good for?”

“He is a _person_ ,” Otabek growled as he advanced on Michel, markedly pleased that the other Alpha had taken a small step back. “He is the strongest man I have ever known; the most ambitious, the most talented. He keeps on going, _never_ gives up—not even when everything he has ever known, everything he has ever loved is taken away from him. You will not steal his soul from him with such a disgusting act; you will _not_ hurt him again.”

“And who's gonna stop me, _you_?” Michel sneered, then laughed cruelly. “Airy-fairy figure skater, what will you do, _twirl at me?_ ” He repeated the jeer from earlier, and Otabek smirked at him.

“I have a better idea,” he replied as he cracked his knuckles, “I thought I'd rearrange your face with my fist.”

“—Otabek,” Yuri said suddenly; Otabek stopped and turned his gaze to Yuri, while being careful to keep the other Alpha in his field of vision. He raised an eyebrow at the Omega; was Yuri _really_ going to stop him from punching out this poor excuse for a person?

 

Yuri did not.

 

He opened his mouth, and voiced his assent with a solitary, two-syllable word.

 

“ _Davai_.”

 

Otabek smirked, gave him a thumbs-up, then curled his hand into a fist, and with all the power he could muster, he swung his fist forward, and he felt the Alpha's nose break cleanly under his fingers.

 

~*~

 

“I don't think I'll ever stop washing my hands,” Otabek muttered as he stared at his surgically clean fingers, but despite this it still felt like the phantom blood of Yuri's attacker was clinging to his skin. Yuri was tightly wrapped in a shock blanket and perched on the edge of the back of the bright yellow ambulance, while Otabek leant against it with him, where he had burrowed himself securely into Otabek's side. The rain had cleared up at last and the sun was shining brightly above them, but the ground was still soaked and muddy.

“Don't be so dramatic,” Yuri replied, “that's my job. If you intend on being a superhero, you have to expect to get a little bloodied up.”

“Breaking the nose of one would-be rapist hardly makes me a _superhero_.”

“Take the fucking compliment, Beka,” Yuri muttered, “I'm too tired to argue with you.”

Otabek grunted a little, but did not respond properly as he watched Michel being frogmarched to the police car. He smirked a little a the sight of it, just as a policewoman approached them, and prompted them for their own statements over what had happened.

Otabek did most of the talking, while Yuri seemed somewhat embarrassed about the whole ordeal. Otabek wrapped a protective arm around the Omega as he spoke, to which the woman did not comment, nor did she press Yuri for more information than he seemed willing to give. Otabek, on the other hand, gave her as much information on Michel as he possibly could, only stopping in his monologue when Yuri would squeeze his arm in a silent plea for him to not divulge a particular point. This only happened once or twice, first during Otabek's explanation of Yuri's first heat, then the more intimate details of Yuri's assault not a full hour earlier. Though Otabek knew that this information would have been helpful in ensuring that Michel stayed behind bars, he did not question Yuri's request, and instead pushed forward without stopping.

“I think that's all we need,” the policewoman said almost forty-five minutes later as she put away the forms she'd filled out with Otabek's help. “We'll be in touch for the court proceedings, but I don't think you need to worry about him getting out of this. If he's the one we think he is...there's been a serial rapist of Omegas at large for months, and from what you've told me, he is probably the one.”

The promise that Michel wouldn't be going anywhere brought a faint smile to Yuri's lips, but he still looked terribly shaken from the ordeal. Otabek, on the other hand, was far from pleased.

“How come we haven't heard of this before?” Otabek cut in immediately, and the policewoman appeared a little startled by his hard tone. “Wouldn't it have made more sense to...I don't know, _warn_ the community that someone like this was out there?”

“With serial rapists and murderers, they live to see their name in headlines,” she replied in an even tone, “we couldn't risk reporting on it—there was every chance he'd increase the intensity of his attacks if we did that.”

“That's no excuse!” Otabek shot back angrily, “my—he—Yura was almost raped, and he had no idea that this monster was out there. Aren't you supposed to _protect_ people, not keep them in the dark—”

“—well, I don't know about you, Beka, but I'd _really_ like to go home,” Yuri interrupted suddenly, and he turned to the policewoman, “unless there's something else you need from us?”

“You can go,” she replied with a small smile, though her tone was still a little stiff from her discussion cum argument with Otabek. “Get some rest, and if we need any followup information, we'll be in touch.”

“Thanks,” Yuri replied, and jumped down from the ambulance and discarded the blanket. At once, he remembered about his attire, and self-consciously tugged on his cardigan to hide his chest. Without missing a beat, Otabek stripped off his leather jacket and handed it to Yuri. He hesitated for a moment, then accepted it and wrapped it around himself, his face a little flushed in embarrassment as the police officer looked a little relieved that he had cut Otabek off before the argument could get too heated.

“Let's go, Yura,” Otabek said grumpily, and took his hand to lead him home. Yuri, fell in step with Otabek, both of his arms wrapped tightly around Otabek's elbow. In that moment, Otabek felt a wave of guilt wash over him, for he could feel Yuri's minor tremors as they moved, and he realized belatedly that his explosion at the officer probably was not exactly helpful. He wasn't exactly certain how to address this crass mistake, moreover he wasn't certain what he would say if he had misread the situation and Yuri was not as upset about that particular thing as he thought he was, and instead they walked in tense silence away from the arena and back towards the main street.

 

Otabek had intended to lead Yuri all the way to his apartment, but the Omega abruptly slowed to a stop as they approached Otabek's place, and his face flushed with embarrassment as the unspoken request hung in the air between them.

Without a word, Otabek once more wrapped a protective arm around Yuri's shoulders and led him up to his apartment.

Inside, Otabek let Yuri go long enough to fish out a big baggy hoodie from his front closet, as well as a pair of lounge pants that he'd covertly bought in Yuri's size—in the event he'd want to spend the night again, and didn't want to sleep in his street clothes.

“Here,” Otabek said while he pushed the clothes into Yuri's hands, “go take a shower and put these on, take as long as you need, okay?”

Yuri nodded mutely, and shuffled into the washroom. After the door closed, Otabek did not miss the soft _snick_ of the lock shifting into place, and he hated how part of him wanted to feel offended by this small action. Rationally, he knew that Yuri would be extra nervous after this latest encounter, but such a barrier between himself and his— _no, not mine—_ Otabek thought abruptly, and shook his head. _Yuri's not mine, or anyone else's. If he chooses to be with me, we're together. I don't own him. I won't be like that sick fuck. I_ can't _be like him._

While he waited for Yuri to finish in the washroom, Otabek pushed back his tangle of confusing thoughts as he pulled out two huge mugs from his cupboard, as well as his box of herbal tea. He paused long enough to change his own soaking wet clothes into something warm and dry, while he struggled to ignore the soft weeping that he could hear trickling through the locked door, just barely audible over the rush of the shower spray.

_If by some horrible fluke that asshole walks free, he won't be around long enough to enjoy it,_ Otabek thought as he clenched his teeth, so hard that it was a miracle that they did not shatter. _If he walks, they'll be finding his body for weeks..._

 

It was another half an hour before Yuri emerged, dressed in the clothes Otabek had offered him, still sniffling a little, but looking marginally better than he had before.

“How are you feeling?” Otabek asked, and the words were met with a glare. “Stupid question, sorry.”

“'sfine,” Yuri mumbled, “I'm just so _tired_ of this. Why does this shit keep happening to me?” He fell unceremoniously onto the sofa, and Otabek pressed a mug of the tea into Yuri's hands before he sat down next to him.

“Because we live in a shitty world where Alphas think that they can get away with being sub-humans by treating Omegas however they want. It's not you, Yura, it's them.”

“But it _has_ to be me,” Yuri insisted, his voice breaking a little, “like today, I just wanted...and then...”

“Yuri,” Otabek said, his voice so hard that Yuri's head snapped up in surprise. “That... _urge_ as you put it, earlier, before we were interrupted, where you were wearing more revealing clothes...” The memory flashed to Otabek's mind, and he bit back a low moan of longing. _God_ , Yuri had looked so beautiful like that. “I've heard that that's what Omegas will do when they want to court an Alpha.”

Both Yuri and himself went scarlet at that, and it was a moment before Otabek felt under control enough to continue his explanation into his meagre knowledge of his own background.

“I'm not saying that as some sort of...hint or whatever you want to think of it as,” Otabek continued, “I think after what happened it might be a good idea for me to stay _far_ away from you when the heat season starts...I don't want to hurt you, Yuri.”

“Is you staying away from me when the season starts even an option anymore?” Yuri asked in a small voice, staring into the contents of his mug instead of looking up at Otabek.

“Yes,” Otabek answered at once, “there's always a choice. We always have options. Yuri, if you don't me around during the heat season, I won't be around. After everything you've been through, I'd be more surprised if you _wanted_ me around during that time.”

At first, Yuri did not respond verbally, but with the sleeves of the giant sweater covering most of his hands, cradling the tea in them, he shimmied closer to Otabek, and pressed himself against Otabek's side, accidentally spilling scalding tea on his thigh in the process. He winced, but Yuri did not seem to notice what he had done. Otabek plucked the mug from Yuri's hands and transferred it to his coffee table, then pulled Yuri into his arms.

Otabek held him carefully, his arms draped around Yuri's waist loosely so that he would not feel restricted. The ghost of a smile graced Otabek's face when Yuri relaxed into the embrace.

“Maybe next season I'll be ready,” Yuri replied softly, “but this one...I don't think I can.”

Otabek offered the Omega a small smile, and he felt Yuri relax even further at the lack of negative response. He leant forward to brush a kiss to Yuri's temple, and he heard his Omega sigh in soft contentment

“I understand, Yuratchka.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The 911 texting thing is not real, as far as I know. I made it up. The text reads: Omega person in danger, @ John Abbott College* campus. Please send the police and an ambulance, near to the Arena.
> 
> *= CEGEP is (as far as I know) strictly a Quebec thing, and doesn't exist in other Canadian provinces. It's a long french acronym, College d'Education General at Professionel – General and Professional College. It lasts 2-3 years and we go there before University.
> 
> **= French is my second language, and while I am mostly bilingual, my French isn't perfect. While I'm pretty sure it's correct, if anyone thinks I've made a grammatical error please call me out on it!


	9. Heat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I didn't have as much time this week as usual to edit, so apologies in advance for any minor errors. I hope you guys enjoy this week's instalment!

Chapter Eight – Heat

 

Without Otabek or Yuri saying a word, the Omega had suddenly become something of a permanent fixture in Otabek's apartment—in particular, his bed. This was something of a problem, given the impending heat season, but for all Yuri had been through, he was still terribly naïve, and did not seem to understand the issue Otabek was having with this.

“What, you don't want me here?” Yuri demanded, his voice laced with anger and hurt when Otabek gently tried to get him to go home for the night. “I'm _damaged goods,_ so you don't want me around, is that it?”

“That's not it and you know it, Yura,” Otabek growled impatiently, and stood fluidly, from where he had been seated with his laptop, and closed the distance between them in one stride. He grasped the Omega's upper arms in a firm but gentle grip, careful to keep from hurting him, but making a point at the same time. “The heat season is almost here. What would happen if it hit while you were here, in my bed? Do you really think anything _good_ would come of that?”

The threat of sexual contact made what Otabek was warning him about click in his mind, and he fled.

 

That had been four days ago, and Otabek had not heard from him since.

All Otabek wanted to do was go and check to see if Yuri was all right, but given that August was finally here, he didn't dare. There was too much at risk if he came upon Yuri in the throes of his heat, and even now he had no idea if he would be able to risk seeing Yuri in that state. Even now, the mere thought of him was enough to make him hard and wanting, and so seeing Yuri was absolutely out of the question. He tried to distract himself by researching ways to curb sexual impulse in Alphas during the season, but found only hearsay of how _tending_ to their Omega would curb sexual desire.

Whatever _that_ meant.

Otabek was close to giving up on his search for a way for him to be with Yuri and help him through his heat, but every time he allowed his mind to rest, it invariably shifted back to his longing to see the Omega. He gritted his teeth, and returned to the fruitless search, hoping against hope that he wouldn't need to test out any of these theories for himself, and that Yuri would pass his heat without reaching out to him.

 

On the fifth day without Yuri, Otabek's phone buzzed.

It was a sound that was innocent enough, but this time, Otabek found himself reluctant to check it.

While Otabek was debating whether or not to check the text, his phone buzzed again.

And again.

On the seventh text, Otabek lost the fight with his conscience, and flipped the phone over. As predicted, all of the texts were from Yuri.

 

_Beka_

_Beka please_

_Hekp me_

_Beka_

_It huts, wjy are you ihnoring me_

_Brka help_

_Jurts_

 

The jumble of misspelled words tugged at Otabek's heart as equally as the pleas did.

_I need to help him, but going over there...it's still a really bad idea,_ Otabek thought as he raked a hand through his hair. His body was already betraying him, and the mere _thought_ of seeing Yuri lost to his heat was so deeply arousing that he was visibly trembling, desperately fighting against the urge to go to him.

As Otabek stood there, debating the pros and cons of caving to Yuri's pleas, his phone buzzed again.

 

_Otabek, please._

 

_Yura_ , Otabek wrote back, his hands badly shaking from the effort of staying put and not running to help his Omega, _I can't, you know I can't. Just ride it out, you can do this._

 

He sent it off, and Otabek did not know what to make of the lack of response—had Yuri accepted that it would be a terrible idea for him to go over there, or had something else happened?

A surge of horrifying images flooded into his mind, and Otabek clenched his eyes shut with a soft growl. He wouldn't think on it—he _couldn't_. His strength was already too fragile, and it was taking everything that he had to stay where he was and not go to Yuri and help him.

_He's fine_ , Otabek thought to himself, _Yuri's in heat, and extremely uncomfortable, but he's fine. He'll get through this, and then we can talk or something. Going to him right now is out of the question, he's not thinking straight, and so I can't trust what he says._

 

His phone buzzed.

 

_I thought you were my friend._

 

Nothing short of a tsunami of guilt washed over Otabek then.

“Now that's just cheating,” he muttered to his phone, his frown deepening.

 

_You're not thinking clearly,_ Otabek typed hastily, _just try to relax. The season will be over soon and we'll talk then. I love you._

 

Otabek's thumb had already moved to the _Send_ button, but froze before he pressed down upon the screen.

 

_I love you._

 

Had he really written that?

Would Yuri like that he had written that?

Did Yuri even feel the same?

Heart in his throat, Otabek hastily hit the backspace until the three words disappeared, then sent the message.

 

~*~

 

Despite all evidence to the contrary, Otabek was beginning to think that Alphas _did,_ in fact, react to the heat season, even when they could not sense the presence of an unmated Omega.

It was the eighth day past, and Otabek was mightily embarrassed when he ventured out to the pharmacy for a six-pack of Kleenex, and spent the better part of his free time jerking off, while trying to _not_ think about how close, and yet so far, the object of his affections was to him.

In the days since his last message to Yuri, he had received a flurry of texts from him, all of them some variation of Yuri begging Otabek to come over and help him get through his heat.

Otabek stopped answering, and after putting his phone on silent, he hid it in a drawer, keen to pretend that it did not exist—at least until the heat was over.

Unfortunately, he also remembered that his coach was supposed to contact him about some adjustments to his Free Program, and reluctantly took his phone back out— _27 New Messages_.

Otabek ignored it.

 

~*~

 

_Just three more days..._ Otabek thought wearily as he stretched out in bed, in nothing but a pair of boxer-briefs as he debated whether or not it was worth even getting up and dressed like a normal human being. It was likely he'd end up spending the day with his hand in his pants like a frustrated teenager anyway, and he sighed heavily before he rolled onto his stomach and buried his face in his pillow with a frustrated groan. This was pure _torture._

Ignoring his phone ( _106 New Messages_ ), Otabek stood and went to shower, but afterwards, he felt absolutely no pull to get dressed, and so donned the underwear again, and puttered around the tiny apartment, looking for something to occupy his mind so that he wouldn't think about Yuri.

 

Three hours of peaceful silence, then he heard a sound rent the air—one that caused him to groan in frustration.

It was a distant buzzing of another tenant's doorbell, closely followed by the next tenant's, and the next.

_Apartment six must've forgotten their keys again..._ Otabek thought with annoyance, his brow furrowing as a few moments later, after buzzing three doors, he heard the front door slam distantly.

 

Otabek's skin hummed, and his breath caught.

 

_No._

 

Otabek's gaze whipped around to his own front door, his eyes bulging in their sockets.

“No,” he whispered to himself, horror-struck, “he couldn't—he wouldn't be so _stupid_...”

“Beka?” A weak, feeble voice sounded from the other side of the door. “Beka, please, let me in...”

Otabek did not move or speak, but stared at the door as though it had spontaneously grown teeth.

“Beka, please let me in...” Yuri pleaded, the broken, cracked quality of his voice made it sound like he was crying. “Beka, I know you're in there, I can smell you...”

The Alpha's conscience raged.

To force Yuri to go home on his own would be a terrible risk—it was heat season, after all, and Yuri's enticing Unbonded Omega scent was like a beacon that drew them close. _How_ he had even gotten over here without luring an Alpha to follow him was it itself nothing short of a miracle.

But to let him in...

...it, too, was a terrible risk. Already Otabek could feel his desires manifest—his body shook, his cock grew hard, a faint sheen of sweat blanketed his skin—his need for Yuri was tangible.

Otabek forced his gaze from the door and walked from his kitchenette—though he could not remember walking _into_ it—to the main part of his apartment, and quickly threw on some clothes, while he tried to ignore his trembling. All that time, Yuri's soft pleas continued, and with the alarm bells in his head sounding in a dizzying cacophony, he crossed his apartment once more, and after taking a deep breath to steel himself, he opened the door.

In an instant, Yuri was in his arms.

Otabek shuddered from the effort of just holding him and doing no more. Yuri's arms latched around his neck like some sort of vice grip, and his face was buried in the hollow of Otabek's neck, and he could feel tears dampen the skin there. Yuri smelled strongly of sex, of sweat, and his tangled hair carried an acrid unwashed smell to it. His skin was oily and seemed to be tinted a sickly yellow, and there was a distinctive damp spot on Yuri's leggings that Otabek did not dare identify.

He did not say a word, not fully trusting himself at the moment, and instead ushered Yuri stiffly to his bed, where he sat him down. He knelt before Yuri, and brushed his thumb along his right cheekbone.

“Stay right there,” Otabek said firmly, his voice shaking a little despite his effort, “ _don't_ move. I'll be right back.”

“Where are you going?” Yuri asked in that same weakened voice.

“To run you a bath,” Otabek replied, and his mouth quirked into a faint half-smile. “I think you might need it.”

Yuri laughed a little, though it was a weak sound, and he nodded his head. Otabek caressed his cheek one last time, and stood to go to the task, though he left the bathroom door open, so that Yuri would not assume he was avoiding him again.

In the bathroom, momentarily out of Yuri's line of vision, Otabek fell to his knees and raked his fingers through his hair, his eyes wide.

_Doing a series of jumps with cinder blocks tied to my calves would be easier than this,_ he thought as he reached forward and turned on the hot water, and added a few drops of essential oils—lavender, chamomile, and jasmine.

When the bath was ready, he went back to Yuri, who was still sitting on the end of his bed looking utterly lost and terrified. The sweet scent of a ripe, unmated Omega assaulted Otabek's senses again, and he clenched his teeth and balled his hands into fists as he focused on what Yuri _needed_ and not what Otabek himself _wanted._

With an arm around Yuri's waist, he led him to the bathroom and shut the door, then reached for the zipper on Yuri's black hoodie. He could see that he wore nothing under it, and Otabek assumed that he had likely dressed in a hurry to come over here. Otabek closed his fingers over the tiny piece of metal, then looked up into Yuri's eyes. He nodded at once.

Otabek held his breath and he pulled the zipper down, exposing a line of fair skin, and a distinctive curve of his breast. Otabek looked up again, but Yuri seemed very close to delirium, and did not give consent nor dissent to his look, and so carefully peeled off the garment, while his hands once more trembled from the effort of not touching the beautiful sight before him.

There was a near-prepubescent look to Yuri's upper body. Had it not been for the ample, fully developed set of breasts, he would have looked like a twelve-year-old boy. His body seemed to be hairless, his stomach was flat and well-defined from his continued practice on the ice, and his newest acquisition—his breasts—would put many women to shame.

High on his chest, perfectly round, the dusky little nipples hardened from being exposed to the air(or from the continued arousal brought on by his heat, Otabek wasn't sure) and his left one was slightly larger than the right.

Otabek longed to reach out and touch them, taste them, and his own erection was bordering on painful as he continued to abstain, but his determination to not take advantage of Yuri in this state was still the stronger impulse, and he forced his gaze away.

Yuri peeled his leggings off by himself, but wobbled dangerously as he tried to step out of them, and Otabek reached out to catch him.

Without the thin layer of material to stifle it, the strong scent of Yuri's heat was much more pronounced, and Otabek tensed in an effort to not touch Yuri's purpling cock, nor trace the slick he could see glistening against his ass with his fingers. He licked his lips once, and carefully helped Yuri into the tub.

 

Beyond the fact that Otabek could tell that Yuri _needed_ a bath (it seemed as though he hadn't bathed since his heat had started), there was an ulterior motive to doing this for him, instead of just shunting him into the shower.

Otabek helped Yuri wet his hair as he relaxed into the bathwater, and squeezed a measure of shampoo into his tangled locks. As he massaged the sweet-smelling product into the Omega's hair, he recalled one of the more _out there_ fringe theories that he'd read about in his desperate bid to find a way to help Yuri.

It was usually applied to deeply religious Alphas and Omegas, that, for one reason or another, chose to abstain from sex during the heat season to prove their love for their deity. According to them, a courting pair could tend to each other (usually the Alpha tending to the Omega), and that would lessen the pain of the heat for the Omega, while still enabling them to remain celibate during the season.

Of the few Alphas that had claimed to have tested it out, responses were always mixed. Some said that it worked, while others insisted that it was utter bullshit, and Alphas _needed_ to mate their Omegas during the heat season.

As Otabek sat there, his fingers tangled in Yuri's hair, the Omega himself letting out soft coos of pleasure at the gentle touch, he began to believe that there may have been some truth to the rumour, after all.

_Some_. Because though Yuri looked completely at peace, Otabek was experiencing the polar opposite.

 

He _ached_.

 

To be so close to the object of his affections, but unable to seek out his own pleasure was maddening.

The small touches he'd offered Yuri weren't enough—far from enough to satiate him, but no matter how badly he wanted it—wanted _him_ , he refused to reach out and take it. If Yuri was to ever trust him again after this, he needed to keep himself in check, which was already proving close to impossible.

Otabek carefully rinsed out Yuri's hair, and picked up the bottle of conditioner, and worked the cream into the blond locks, carefully untangling the strands as he went. Yuri's eyes were shut, and had it not been for the occasional soft sigh of pleasure that he emitted, he would have looked to be asleep.

The last (and in Otabek's opinion, most hazardous) order of business was washing Yuri's body.

Otabek had fished out a number of items he rarely used on a day-to-day basis, and first gently rubbed a green tea scrub onto Yuri's face and throat. He then used a soft flannel to wash all the oil, dirt, and grime from his skin with an apple-scented body wash, giving his more private areas the quickest scrub-down he could to avoid tempting himself.

He unstoppered the tub, helped Yuri to stand, and turned on the shower to help him rinse the last remnants of the suds from his skin, then wrapped a towel securely around him before he helped Yuri out of the tub.

Otabek continued to train all his focus on the needy Omega, first by drying him off, then, after grabbing another fresh towel, he escorted Yuri back to the main area of the apartment, and coaxed him onto the bed on his stomach, and draped the towel over his exposed ass.

Yuri did not question any of Otabek's actions, and instead watched him in silent reverence, as though Otabek was some sort of god that had descended from the heavens just for him. The look unnerved Otabek more than a little, but forced himself to stay focused on the task at hand, and continued to _try_ to ignore his raging hard-on.

Otabek snatched the bottle of unscented hemp body lotion from his bedside table, squeezed a measure of it into his hands, and massaged the cream into Yuri's skin.

He started with Yuri's neck and shoulders, worked his way down his arms, between every finger, over his back, and down his legs. He deliberately avoided Yuri's ass, and turned him over to repeat the process on his stomach and chest (the towel now covering his genitals, the tented look making it clear that Yuri's arousal had not dimmed one iota), but this time some of his resolve began to crumble, and he took the time to gently massage the lotion into his breasts. Otabek's thumbs flicked over the hardened nipples, he squeezed them together and covered them this his hands, entranced by the fleshy mounds in his hands.

Yuri's soft, keening moan of pleasure, paired with the resurgence of the musky scent of his arousal snapped Otabek back to reality, and still mildly trembling, he forced his hands away.

Ignoring both the Omega's soft protests and his own straining, painful erection, he sat Yuri up, took the towel away, and wrapped him securely in the navy blue comforter.

Picking up the brush that Yuri had left behind some weeks earlier, Otabek settled down behind him, and starting at the bottom, he proceeded to brush out the Omega's hair.

Like before, Yuri let out soft vocalizations of pleasure as Otabek ran the brush through the blond strands, slowing when he caught a tangle, so as to not hurt him. His fingers carded through the damp locks, and Otabek marvelled at the way his entire body seemed to hum at the close proximity to Yuri, and how this small action felt as intimate to him as any sex act would have been.

When he'd finished, Otabek pulled Yuri's hair back into an awkward braid (the instructions covertly Googled on his phone when Yuri wasn't looking), then he gently eased Yuri down onto the bed. He immediately rolled over to face Otabek, and shifted to close the distance between them.

“Will you touch me now?” Yuri whispered pleadingly, his eyes wide.

Otabek reached out and rested his thumb against Yuri's cheek, and traced the shape of it as he moved the digit to the edge of his jaw, tickling the outline of his face until his fingers fell upon his chin. He tilted Yuri's head up and kissed him lightly. It was no more than a simple peck, and when Otabek reluctantly pulled back, he heard Yuri's distinct whine of displeasure.

In the moment between kissing Yuri and pulling back, the conniving Omega had shifted the blanket, and was now exposing himself fully to Otabek, showing off his heaving chest and hard cock, a pleading look in his eyes.

Swallowing thickly, Otabek covered Yuri back up with shaking hands.

“No, Yuri, I will not touch you,” he said, and Yuri's eyes widened with hurt at the rejection. “Please understand, it's not that I don't want to, because, fuck, I do— _so much—_ but you were almost... _raped_ two weeks ago. I know you think that you want this, but when the heat is over, I know that you would not appreciate me...touching you like that.”

“I want it,” Yuri said at once, again opening the blanket to expose himself as he shimmied closer. “I won't regret it, I _know_ that I won't.”

Otabek leant in again and kissed Yuri while he forced the blanket back over him one-handed, this time gripping it tightly to keep Yuri from showing himself off again.

“Trust me, Yura,” Otabek whispered. The words were met with a soft whine of need, and Yuri squirmed as he tried to show himself to Otabek again.

It was going to be a long three days.

 


	10. Aftercare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Early update, since I have actual plans on Friday. The following update will be next Friday as usual.

Chapter Nine – Aftercare

 

Otabek felt very much like he had become a botched test subject for Viagra.

Like any man, he had been privy to embarrassing erections at the most inopportune times as a teenager, of course.

But this was just getting ridiculous.

During the last days of his Heat, Otabek had taken to task of keeping Yuri comfortable, while keeping himself _un_ comfortable. This included fetching Yuri some fresh clothes and feeding his cats (which was a new and disgusting experience for Otabek, ensuring that he would never be able to touch pâté of any kind ever again); while determinedly ignoring the aching, throbbing heat between his own legs.

This was made twice as difficult by Yuri's complete disinterest in Otabek's protests that he would likely regret it once the Heat had passed. More than once after Otabek had nodded off, he would wake not long after to a naked, panting Yuri straddling him, his eyes half-mad in his desperation for release.

Each time, Otabek would gently pry him off, lay Yuri back down, and massage him, interspersing the rubdown with light kisses, and veering close to, but never touching Yuri too intimately. Yuri was too far gone to properly consent to anything, and Otabek refused to do anything that might cause the Omega to wake from his Heat feeling violated, no matter how uncomfortable it was for both of them to continue to abstain like this.

On the fourth day, Otabek was roused very early by a soft groan coming from next to him.

It was not a sexual groan, but one of someone who had had far too little sleep for a long stretch of time. As Otabek shook himself awake and got his bearings, he realized that the heavy scent of Yuri's Heat had dissipated, and his own painful erection was _finally_ gone.

Yuri lay tangled in Otabek's blankets and looked less like he was waking up from two weeks of constant arousal, and more like he'd woken up with the worst hangover in history.

“What happened?” Yuri rasped when he noticed that Otabek was lying next to him, then looked down at himself and blinked in confusion. “Why am I naked?” he demanded as he looked back up at Otabek, “how did I get here? What the _hell_ is going on?”

“Your Heat's just ended,” Otabek explained simply as he sat up and stretched, “it'll come back to you. Don't freak out, I've got some clothes for you—maybe now that you're Heat's over you'll actually keep them _on_.” He eyed Yuri, who went very red at that comment.

Otabek stood and scooped up the leopard-print travel bag off the floor. Inside were a few changes of clothes, Yuri's toiletries bag, and his phone—all the bare necessities. Presumably he was still too out of it to thank him properly, he mumbled something that Otabek didn't catch as he dug into the bag for something to wear.

While Yuri went about getting dressed, Otabek went to his kitchenette to heat up the surprise that he'd covertly picked up for Yuri on one of his trips out to check on the Omega's cats.

The pirozki sizzled in the toaster oven while Otabek made some coffee, then brought the pastry and the drink over the Omega, who still looked half-dead. He did look marginally better with clothes on, and he shimmied wordlessly to the edge of the bed as Otabek set down the plate on the mattress and pressed the mug into his hands.

“'nks,” he mumbled, and blew on the hot beverage before he took a small sip.

“Do you remember anything?” Otabek asked gently as he sat next to him, and the blond shook his head minutely.

“Flashes,” he mumbled, and took another sip of the coffee, “mostly just feeling really frustrated and desperate...and feeling like it was your fault, but...” Yuri paused and eyed Otabek curiously. “You didn't, did you? Fuck me, I mean. Mi— _he_ claimed that an Alpha had to, that they could never fight it, hell, even _you_ said that. But...” Yuri trailed off and shook his head.

“It was hard,” Otabek replied with a small frown, “harder than I thought it'd be. But I didn't like how...it felt like I'd be taking advantage of you if I gave in to your...charms.”

Yuri watched him for a moment, his expression unreadable, then, to Otabek's complete surprise, Yuri closed the distance between them and brushed his lips across the Alpha's in a light kiss.

“Thank you,” Yuri said softly, his face a little flushed, and he did not meet Otabek's eyes as he said it. “For—for being decent, I mean.”

Otabek leant in for a kiss of his own, then pressed his forehead against Yuri's as he gazed into his eyes. A hand lifted to caress his cheek, and Yuri's eyelids fluttered at the soft touch. A million phrases danced through Otabek's mind as he tried to think of something to say, each one more cornier than the last.

Instead, Otabek kissed Yuri one last time, and pushed the plate towards him.

“Eat. Let me fix your braid.”

Without waiting for Yuri to respond, Otabek circled behind him, tugged off the elastic, and Yuri's hair immediately fell from the braid in a crimped, messy wave against the nape of his neck. He had finally begun to eat, and Otabek carefully ran his fingers through the strands, untangling it, and marvelling at how such a simple act could fill him with such a complete sense of joy. A small smile came unbidden to his lips as he divided the hair up, and proceeded to braid it. It was still as clunky and awkward-looking as the last time, but if Otabek didn't know any better, he was certain that his technique had improved slightly since his first attempt.

“Why?”

Yuri's question came suddenly, just as Otabek had finished tying the braid off and had settled next to him again. A few crumbs from the pirozki clung to Yuri's cheek, and the Omega was regarding him with an utterly perplexed look on his face.

“Why what?” Otabek asked, and Yuri frowned, as though he felt that Otabek knew exactly what Yuri meant, but was deliberately playing dumb. When the silence had stretched on for nearly a full minute, Yuri huffed and glared at him.

“I mean...why bother?” Yuri asked, his mouth pulled into a frown. “Why take care of me? Why deny yourself, when I was _obviously_ willing—well, not _willing_ -willing, but too horny to remember anything and...I just, I don't get it.”

“I thought that was obvious,” Otabek replied while he raised his eyebrows at the Omega. Yuri didn't respond, but continued to stare at him. “I thought respect was something two people shared when...” he trailed off, and regarded Yuri uncertainly. He swallowed, braced himself for a rejection, and took the plunge, “...when they're in love.”

Yuri shook his head, and a small smile played across his lips.

“You sentimental ass...” he muttered as he discarded the remnants of his breakfast, climbed into Otabek's lap, and kissed him hard.

This was nothing like their previous tender, exploratory kisses, where one or the other would test to see if the other would pull away. This was a kiss wherein Yuri knew full well that Otabek wanted him, and had shown it in his near-painful abstinence during Yuri's Heat. Yuri, in turn, was showing Otabek how much he wanted him in return, and despite the outward bravado of the kiss, Otabek could feel the soft tremor that ran through the Omega perched on his lap.

Otabek could not deny that he wanted Yuri. He wanted Yuri more than he had wanted anything in his life—more than prestige for his country in the form of a gold medal, more than being the best figure skater he could possibly be, and beyond that, he wanted _Yuri_ to want him.

He wanted to taste everything that Yuri was, he wanted Yuri on his bed convulsing with pleasure, he wanted to see Yuri's face when he finally tasted an orgasm that wasn't at the hands of someone who hurt him just for the sheer pleasure of it.

Otabek wanted so much of Yuri, but he also knew that Yuri was certainly not ready to hear what Otabek wanted of him—yet.

The Alpha broke the kiss first, wary of it getting too heated, and he lifted a hand to cradle Yuri's cheek, his thumb brushing along the bone. Yuri smiled meekly and leant into the contact.

“By Allah,” Otabek whispered reverently, “you are just...so beautiful.”

“Just beautiful?” Yuri asked as an attractive flush rose in his cheeks.

“And strong, and brave, and...Yuri, I've missed you so much.”

Yuri did not respond verbally, but shifted closer and wrapped his arms tightly around Otabek's neck. He wasn't certain, but Otabek swore that he heard Yuri exhale tiny little sigh, almost like he was trying to keep from crying.

He assumed that Yuri did not want any attention drawn to it, and so Otabek wrapped his arms around his Omega, and held him close.

 

~*~

 

Otabek had grown so accustomed to the sound of someone else's breathing next to him as he slept that going back to sleeping alone was difficult.

However, he knew that Yuri needed time.

Time to recover from his heat.

Time to think about _us._

Time with his pets.

 

Simply, _time_.

 

The knowledge of why Yuri needed time away from him did not make the painful loneliness any easier to bear, and instead of practising for the upcoming season, he was spending more and more time lazing around his apartment doing a lot of nothing—except perhaps pining for his Omega. The tiny apartment was simply _too_ quiet without Yuri around, and his absence, despite the necessity of it for him to recuperate, weighed heavily on Otabek.

_I need to stop thinking about this,_ Otabek thought viciously, and all but jumped off his sofa. His thoughts had begun to veer dangerously close to throwing caution into the wind and going to check on Yuri, and he did not want to crowd the Omega, who was likely feeling more than a little overwhelmed after everything that had happened.

Otabek forced his mind into a blank, meditative state as he threw on a clean black T-shirt, along with a pair of black men's yoga pants, and grabbed his sports bag. He needed to work off these thoughts before he did something incredibly stupid, like barge into Yuri's apartment unannounced.

_It's just as well,_ Otabek thought as he grabbed his keys and phone before he hurried out of the building, _I need to practice anyway, even if I won't be in shape in time for the start of the season..._

Something in that thought process tugged at his heart; he hadn't missed a season in a very long time, and even though he had a good reason for missing this one, it still stung.

Fleetingly, he wondered if this was perhaps how Yuri had felt when he was unceremoniously forced out of the sport. The thought did not make Otabek feel any better about his decision to not participate in this year's Grand Prix Series, but at least he was getting a taste of what Yuri must have gone through at that horrible time two years ago, and in a strange way, it made him feel closer to his Omega.

The dark thoughts followed him all the way to the Arena, and the sight of it made him feel slightly sick. The last time he had been there was when Yuri had been attacked, and seeing the old warehouse brought with it a torrent of bad memories.

Otabek shook his head once, and forced himself to step inside.

Being there made his skin prickle, and he still felt distinctly nauseous as he paid the girl behind the counter, pulled on his skates, and took to the ice. He stuffed his ear buds in, selected the music for his short program, and began to skate.

The adapted version of _The Ride of the Valkyries_ was like an electrical charge, and as he skated to it, he felt all his negative feelings that had built up over the last few weeks begin to fall into the background. They didn't fade, not completely, but giving himself over to his craft, over to the music that guided it, it was much more therapeutic than he had expected it to be.

As the song wound down and he came into his finish, he shot to the centre of the ice, crossed his arms across his chest, and fell hard to his knees. His balance and muscle control were the only things that had stopped him from doing himself real injury in that final move, and for a moment, his body felt locked, as though to move again would somehow cause his body to shatter. He felt beyond tired by the workout, and there was a bone-deep ache in him as he went over everything that had happened in the last few months. Had it only been a few months? It felt more like _years._

A soft muffled clapping beyond his ear buds drew Otabek out of his mind, and he looked up to see the girl who minded the rink standing at the barrier, smiling as she politely applauded his performance.

Otabek stood slowly, still sweat-soaked and panting hard, and he drew the buds from his ears, as he skated a little closer to her. Her face fell a little, and she offered him a meek, apologetic smile.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt your practice,” she said, “it was just...enthralling.” Otabek frowned a little, uncertain what he could say to that, but she pressed forward before he could get a word in. “You're Otabek Altin, aren't you? The professional skater?”

“Yes,” he replied, and nodded once, “it's all right, it's probably a good thing that you interrupted me before I got too...lost. How do you know who I am?”

“Oh, I follow the Grand Prix Series every year,” she explained with a meek smile. “I haven't told anyone who you are, don't worry, I've been keeping Yuri Plisetsky's secret for years, too.”

Otabek froze. He stared at her, but the girl continued to smile sweetly back at him.

“So you...you know what we are?” he asked, and struggled to keep his tone even. She nodded at once, and her kind smile never wavered.

“I just think it's so awful that you can't compete...um, openly,” she said, her voice dropping to just above a whisper as she glanced around at the scant few other occupants of the rink, but no one seemed to be paying any attention to them. “Your secret's safe with me, don't worry.”

“Thank you,” Otabek nodded his head once, and she smiled at him again. “What's your name?”

“Jöelle. Jöelle Primeau.”

“It's nice to meet you, Jöelle,” Otabek replied, and offered her a small smile.

“And you, properly, I mean,” she said with a small laugh. “Don't worry, I'll keep the groupies at bay while you practice.”

“Thank you,” Otabek replied, eyeing her oddly, though he had no idea what else he could say to a statement like that. “But...why? I mean why bother not telling anyone who we are? What do you get out of it?”

“A clean conscience?” she said, though the words escaped her like a question as she regarded Otabek, as though the answer was obvious. “I figured you picked Sainte Anne's as a home base because you didn't want to be recognized, or hounded by press, or something. It'd be pretty shitty of me to out you, so to speak, you know?”

“Yeah,” Otabek replied, thinking of Yakov. “I know.”

 

~*~

 

It was a few days before Otabek heard from Yuri again.

He was very proud of himself that he'd managed to actually leave his Omega alone, in spite of the frequent feelings of possessiveness that had begun to plague his thoughts over the last weeks. He knew now, without a shadow of a doubt that he wanted Yuri in every way possible, and being patient with him, while necessary, was slowly driving him insane.

Yuri's contact came in the form of a text message late one Wednesday afternoon, just as Otabek was returning home from practice.

 

_Can I come over?_

 

Otabek could all but hear the apprehension in the four simple words, and he felt a swell of joy fill him. In such a short span of time, Yuri's reluctance to be alone with an Alpha had done a complete one-eighty, and he was extremely proud that _he_ happened to be the Alpha that Yuri felt comfortable with.

 

_Give me twenty minutes to shower and change._

 

He sent off the response without waiting to see if Yuri would answer him back, and after he grabbed a fresh wad of clothes from his closet, he slipped into the washroom and scrubbed the sweat from his body while he allowed the hot water to tend to his sore muscles.

Otabek did not dare take too long in the shower, well-aware that Yuri's patience was about as good as his, and this seemed to be the right move, given that just as he was in the middle of drying himself off when his doorbell sounded loudly.

After he towelled off his bottom half roughly and yanked on his jeans, Otabek padded out barefoot to the door to buzz Yuri in. Otabek then slipped back into the washroom to finish drying off when a soft knocking less than thirty seconds later.

“It's open!”

The door opened with a sharp click of the knob turning, and Yuri stepped inside, dressed casually in black skinny jeans and a fitted T-shirt, which came as something of a surprise to Otabek, given how Yuri usually did all he could to hide his chest from view.

“Hey, I—” Yuri began, but stopped short when he caught sight of Otabek, half dressed, his hair damp with droplets of water still clinging to his chest. Yuri's face went very pink, and Otabek tried to not feel too pleased at how the Omega's eyes gave him a less-than-subtle once-over.

“Sorry,” Otabek said, though he didn't exactly feel very sorry, “I just got out of the shower.” He stepped back inside the washroom and finished drying himself off before he grabbed his fresh shirt and tugged it on. Otabek then refocused his gaze on Yuri, whose eyes were downcast and riddled with a look of self-doubt, as though he was uncertain whether or not he was truly wanted there. “Was there something you wanted?” Otabek asked, and winced at how the question could be interpreted. “Not that I mind you being here,” he added quickly, “but I wasn't expecting to see you for a few days, at least.”

“Oh, well, um, should I go?” Yuri asked, his cheeks pink, and Otabek frowned at the soft, uncertain tone to his voice. He hated seeing Yuri like this.

“That's not what I meant,” Otabek said as he closed the distance between them, but did nothing more than offer Yuri's hand a gentle squeeze. The light albeit unintentional brush of Yuri's breasts against his chest made him want to do _much_ more than that, but so close to his Heat, not to mention the near-rape, he didn't think Yuri was emotionally ready for such a thing. “Do you want something? Tea? Juice? Beer? We can hang out and watch movies if you don't feel like talking.”

Yuri smiled faintly, and that was all the answer that Otabek needed.

Over greasy pizza and cold beer, Otabek allowed Yuri to select what to watch off Netflix, and Otabek resigned himself to having to watch one terrible, biologically inaccurate shark horror movie after another.

They were seated on his couch, Yuri, very catlike, seemed to have commandeered most of it, and despite the late August heat, he was bundled up in the comforter off Otabek's bed, and had rested his head on Otabek's shoulder while he watched the movie, so enthralled with it that he hardly seemed to notice that he was half-in and half-out of the Alpha's lap. Otabek was not complaining about the seating arrangements one bit, and he idly stroked Yuri's hair while they watched, though he couldn't quite see the appeal of watching a bunch of men and women get torn limb from limb by sharks in the name of entertainment.

“Beka?” Yuri asked as the credits began to roll on the second movie they'd watched.

“Hm?” Otabek glanced down at Yuri, and found a set of brilliant green eyes staring up at him uncertainly.

“Why...” Yuri paused and grimaced, as though he was uncertain how to pose the question. Otabek waited, and after a pregnant pause, the Omega tried again. “I mean, I think I understand why you didn't...but, how come you didn't mark me?”

As Yuri spoke, his hand trailed up almost absentmindedly to the side of his throat, his head tilted just so that the tendon there raised a little, making it more noticeable. Otabek knew full well that it was not a tendon that he was seeing, but Yuri's Bonding Gland—the place an Alpha bit into when they wished to tie themselves to their Omega. It was more permanent than any marriage could be, and was not something anyone with half a brain would ever enter into lightly.

Otabek reached out and brushed his fingers along the gland, eliciting a small shiver from Yuri. Even out of season, it was still incredibly sensitive.

“Did you _want_ me to mark you?” he asked softly, and Yuri immediately averted his gaze.

“Yes—no—fuck, I don't know,” Yuri muttered as he straightened up, and he stared at Otabek with a look of utter confusion. “I don't get you. Every other Alpha just...just... _took_ what they wanted. Why are you making me choose?”

“I'm not _making_ you do anything, Yura,” Otabek said, his firm tone and the note of annoyance in his voice caused Yuri to flinch. Otabek immediately reached out to stroke Yuri's hair soothingly as he continued, and the gentle touch seemed to reassure the Omega that Otabek wasn't genuinely angry with him. “I don't want to force you into anything you may not want, or may not feel ready for. Bonding is a pretty serious business, and both of us are still pretty young. I'd rather just be with you, and I'll mark you when you ask for it—out of your Heat.”

“Out of my Heat?” Yuri asked, and Otabek nodded. “Why?”

“I don't trust anything you have to say when you're _in_ Heat,” Otabek replied simply, a small, amused smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You're too horny to care about anything beyond getting your needs met. You don't really want to be marked when you're in Heat, you just want the touch of an Alpha.”

Yuri went very red, but he didn't contradict Otabek either.

Without a word, he discarded the blanket and climbed into Otabek's lap; the Alpha shivered a little when he felt Yuri's breasts press against his chest as he leant in to kiss Otabek deeply.

Startled by the action, it took Otabek a moment to respond, and when he did, one arm moved to possessively wrap around Yuri's middle, while his opposite hand went to his cheek, cradling and caressing it lightly. When they broke apart for air, it lasted mere seconds before they were kissing again, and Otabek felt utterly lost to his desire for the Omega that currently presided in his lap.

“Beka...” Yuri murmured softly, his tone of voice closer to a moan than anything else. Otabek opened his eyes to regard the blond. He stared at Otabek for a long, silent moment before he finally spoke. “I think...I think I could easily fall in love with you.”

“I know,” Otabek replied softly, and kissed Yuri again, “me too.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Friendly reminder that this is set in Canada, and the legal drinking age here is eighteen in Québec (and Alberta and Manitoba) and nineteen everywhere else in the country, for those who may not know, so Yuri is not drinking underage.
> 
> When I first started doing research for this story, I read that most of the population of Kazakhstan seem to be Muslim (according to Wikipedia) and so while I never really viewed Canon Otabek as a very religious person, one's religious upbringing still has an impact on you, whether you're consciously aware of it or not. To me, it's not 'forced diversity' to include his statement of, “By Allah” here, it is the same to me as a Christian saying, “My God” or something to that effect. I don't normally do this, but I will _not_ abide any Islamophobic comments, nor will I respond to them. They will be deleted.


	11. Best Laid Plans

Chapter Ten – Best Laid Plans

 

“What are you doing here?”

As far as customer-employee conversations went, that was not exactly the reaction that Otabek had been expecting.

“What do you mean what am I doing here?” he asked Yuri innocently, who glared at him from behind the counter, “I'm hungry.” He pushed the mound of snacks and beer across the glass top, but that only served to heighten Yuri's look of annoyance.

“Conveniently when I happen to be working?”

“Lucky chance,” Otabek replied simply, “you're in the service industry, so, come on... _service me._ ”

“That is _so_ not funny,” Yuri grumbled, his face turning a deep red as he rang up Otabek's purchases and crammed them into a flimsy plastic bag.

“It was a little funny,” Otabek replied, as he tugged out his card and paid. “Are you coming over after your shift?”

“I have Osteo, then I want to go _home_ -home tonight,” Yuri replied simply, “besides, you should be training for the upcoming season, not stuffing yourself with sugar, salt, and saturated fat.”

“All the necessary food groups,” Otabek said with a faint smirk and a dismissive wave of his hand, while he tried to not look too guilty at Yuri's comment. “Can I come see you after your Osteo appointment, or do you just want to crash when you get off or something?”

“You're much more needy and clingy than I ever expected,” Yuri countered, though he was smiling as he said it. “Fine, you can come over if you promise to bring me pirozki and cherry coke.”

“You know, you're one to talk about sugar, salt, and fat...”

“Shut up and come here,” Yuri muttered, and after he cast a cursory glance around the empty store, he grabbed the front of Otabek's pullover, dragged him forward, and kissed him hard.

“You're adorable when you're petulant and forceful,” Otabek murmured as he pulled back from the kiss, and Yuri went a little pink. Otabek kissed him one last time before he murmured, “cherry coke and pirozki, I promise.”

After Yuri stole one final kiss, Otabek reluctantly left the store, a faint smile escorting him back to his apartment.

 

The last month of Otabek's life had been like something out of a fairy tale; no more drama, no more secrets, just he and Yuri getting to know each other again. He could not deny that the slow growth of trust was frustrating at times, and when he wasn't with Yuri, Otabek had been spending an inordinate amount of time with his right hand, but like before, he refused to push Yuri into anything—or even ask for it. When Yuri was ready to go further, he would let Otabek know.

No secrets—except for the fact that he wasn't going to be participating in this year's Grand Prix Series.

Despite the decision, Otabek had yet to tell anyone, not even his coach, and the assignments had already gone up—he was to skate in Skate Canada, then the Rostelecom Cup.

How ironic that he was due to go back to Russia, a place that would love to see him dead, if they knew the truth.

Otabek reached his apartment, and he fell onto his couch with his purchases. He cracked open one of the beers he'd bought, and threw his windows wide open to let in the cool summer breeze before he fished out his Doritos, and settled in with his snacks to accompany his morose thoughts. He stared off in a daze, not really looking at anything, and crammed a chip into his mouth.

How was he going to explain to Yuri that he was planning to pull out of this year's series?

_He's going to think that it's his fault,_ Otabek thought darkly, _it doesn't matter what I say, he'll still think that all this stuff going on between us will be the cause of it._

Otabek's expression settled into a scowl, and he stared off at the perfect blue sky above. No answers came to him. With a heavy sigh of frustration, he put away the junk food and grabbed his sports bag, hoping that a hard workout on the ice might help to clear his head better than the food had.

 

~*~

 

Unlike usual, the punishing practice session did not help Otabek to work through his problem nearly as much as he had hoped that it would.

His thoughts were still plagued by _how_ he could possibly tell Yuri that he planned to pull out, and every scenario that he came up with included Yuri dramatically agonizing over the news or pitching a fit, both reactions that Otabek was rather keen to avoid, if possible.

 

Otabek showered and changed his clothes before he headed out again, but he was only vaguely aware of what he was doing, his head still lost in the clouds. He climbed onto his motorcycle, which had _finally_ arrived, and the rumble of the engine beneath him was what successfully jarred him out of his thoughtful, worried daze.

It felt terribly good to be seated back on his old motorcycle, but even something as simple as driving to the bakery was enough to rouse his memories of that first ride he took with Yuri at his back.

_Barcelona feels like it was so far away, but it's only been two years..._ Otabek thought, and grimaced as he turned onto the highway, then took the Morgan Road exit. He shook his head as he got off the highway and turned up to the first strip mall that he saw, but despite his efforts to focus on the present instead of the past, it was not enough to dispel the memories, and the uncomfortable knot of worry that had settled in the pit of his stomach continued to rest there unhindered.

 

While Otabek stood in the bakery and waited for the pirozki to be ready (a fair sum paid to the baker to make a him very _special_ kind of pirozki), and a bottle of the requested cherry coke rested in his bag, reasons and excuses for pulling out of the series chased each other around in his head, and each one sounded more feeble than the last.

It had occurred to Otabek to simply tell Yuri the truth— _I haven't been training enough, and my program isn't solid enough to compete at my full potential—_ but he hated the unspoken blame that he could hear in it. It wasn't Yuri's fault that he hadn't been bothering to train, and instead spent the better part of the summer taking care of him. If it came down to it and he had to choose between Yuri and skating, he didn't even need to pause to consider it; he knew the answer.

 

Yuri.

 

Otabek bit the inside of his cheek to hide his smile as he accepted the bag of _katsudon_ pirozki from the baker with a small nod of his head. He could all but hear Yuri's snarky response if he ever chose to admit that to the Omega.

 

_You're an idiot, Beka._

 

Chuckling under his breath, he packed away his purchases in the underseat compartment of his bike, and with a kick to the ignition, he turned around and headed back home.

 

 

~*~

 

“ _Who is it?”_

Yuri's voice crackled through the intercom to his building, and Otabek felt a blush colour his face at the thrill of joy that rushed through him at the mere sound of it. Was it even _normal_ to get so excited by just the sound of someone's voice like that?

“It's me,” Otabek answered, and immediately the door buzzed to admit him. This time, he did not try and stifle his smile as he stepped inside and headed up to Yuri's apartment, but did offer the Omega a knowing smirk when the door flew open before he had even reached it. He knew it was his Alpha scent that had alerted Yuri to his presence, and he revelled in the attractive, embarrassed flush that flooded the Omega's face, and he muttered something unintelligible as he stepped aside to let Otabek in.

The moment Yuri shut the door behind him, he reached out to cradle Yuri's cheek in his hand before he pulled him in for a light kiss. It was made even more endearing by how red he still was, but it did not stop him from returning it.

“Here,” Otabek said as he handed over the bag, “pirozki and cherry coke, as promised.”

“Thanks,” Yuri said as he accepted it, then grabbed on Otabek's hand with his own free one, and led him farther into the tiny apartment. He paused long enough to let Otabek shed his boots and jacket, then led him over to the unmade bed where his laptop was set up, the space occupied already by Misha and Kisa.

Otabek knew that there was no suggestive undertone in Yuri dragging him to bed; it was simply the most comfortable seat in the apartment—given that his small, lumpy couch was overflowing with laundry and at least two backpacks, both half-filled with stuff, and his sports bag was lumped on the very top of the pile.

“What do you wanna watch?” Yuri asked as he plopped down, probably a little harder than he should have as the movement caused his laptop to rock back and forth, and both of his cats to dart off.

“You pick,” Otabek answered as he sat down next to Yuri and watched him open Netflix.

“I picked last time,” Yuri replied simply, “your turn.”

Knowing how stubborn Yuri could be, and the edge of argument in his voice setting off an alarm in Otabek's mind, he nodded a little as he crossed his legs.

“Fine then, _Breakfast at Tiffany's,_ ” Otabek said, and Yuri snorted.

“Somehow I always knew that you were a closet starlet queen,” Yuri said with a small smirk while he looked up the movie, and Otabek rolled his eyes.

“Shut up,” Otabek replied with a small laugh, “Audrey Hepburn is a goddess; what more could you ask for?”

“Maybe something newer?”

“It's a classic.”

“Beka, it's _old_.”

Otabek elbowed him, but both young men were smiling.

Yuri put on the movie, and Otabek eased back as the Omega tried to as covertly as possible inch into his lap. Otabek did his best to hide how pleased he was as Yuri settled between his legs with his food, and Otabek perched his head on the Omega's shoulder as the movie began to open. However, his eyes were not on the film, but instead on Yuri, who had just fished the first steaming pastry from the bag.

Belatedly, he hoped that it would not bring back bad memories for him, and his stomach clenched a little as he watched Yuri bite into it.

Yuri had barely taken one bite before his eyes went wide, and his gaze dropped to the pirozki in his hands, as though to make sure he wasn't imagining things.

Steaming breaded pork, egg, and rice were encased in the pastry, and Yuri's pensive expression was enough to make Otabek's stomach knot with nervousness.

“Did I...make a mistake, getting that for you?”

“No,” Yuri said while he dropped a hand to squeeze his forearm reassuringly, “it's nice, just brings with it a mix of good and bad memories.”

Otabek wrapped his arms around Yuri's waist and gave him a small squeeze, and he eased back into the embrace.

“I promise only good memories from now on,” Otabek murmured, and Yuri laughed softly.

“You can't promise that, Beka.”

“Why not?”

“Because you have no idea what will happen tomorrow, or a week from now, or a year from now,” Yuri said simply, “you and I might argue all the time, or you might run off with some skanky Omega, or—”

Otabek silenced Yuri's ramblings with a kiss.

He could taste the _katsudon_ filling on the Omega's lips, and he shuddered with longing at how wonderful and just how _right_ he felt in that moment. He shifted a little to hide from Yuri just how deeply the kiss had affected him, and when he pulled back, Yuri looked as dazed as Otabek felt.

“I liked you before we ever properly met in Barcelona, and I never stopped. The only thing that I could see changing in the future is I'll love you more, not less.”

“You're such a gross romantic,” Yuri replied, a small, amused smirk twitching at the corners of his mouth.

“Lucky for you,” Otabek shot back, and with another short laugh, Yuri settled back into Otabek's arms. He ate half the bag that Otabek had brought him, occasionally offering the Alpha a bite of the pirozki, but he found that he wasn't very hungry, and was more focused on the small body resting against his own.

Yuri felt like he _fit_ there—like he had always meant to be there. He wasn't exactly petite, but still smaller than Otabek, and the perfect balance of soft and hard, a lovely side-effect of his continuous training. Catlike, he had slouched down as far as he could, and his chin was pressing into his sternum, and his legs were stretched out comfortably, with his head resting in the centre of Otabek's chest. His actual cats had jumped up to join them, the ginger one curled into Yuri's side, and the other one curled up on Yuri's stomach like some sort of very fluffy round cushion. Both were purring loudly, and they reminded Otabek of a pair of small, running motors.

“You know,” Yuri said thickly as he bit into another pirozki, “not that I mind using you as a huge pillow or whatever, but shouldn't you be at the rink? If I can't compete and destroy Viktor and his Piggy, you should at least do it on my behalf.”

Otabek didn't immediately answer, and he felt his insides turn to ice. He had been warm, comfortable, and content—why did Yuri have to ask that _now?_

“Beka?” Yuri prompted, and shifted his position to look up at Otabek, his green eyes wide and shining with curiosity.

“Actually...” Otabek began, and trailed off as his nerve began to waver, “uh, I was thinking of not participating in the series this year.”

Silence followed Otabek's announcement. Yuri dropped the piece of pirozki that he still held aloft in his hand, and he stared at Otabek with wide eyes. He nudged the cat off his chest and sat up, and Otabek winced when he saw the look of guilt that crossed Yuri's features.

“Why?” he asked at last, and Otabek looked away from the Omega, his expression awash with guilt.

“I haven't practised enough,” Otabek explained, “there's barely two months until Skate Canada, and there's no way I'll be ready in time.”

“This is because of me, isn't it?” Yuri asked; Otabek turned back to him, and wrapped one arm around his waist to pull him close, while the other moved to cradle his cheek. He kissed Yuri once, barely more than a gentle peck, and he smiled warmly when he felt Yuri's hold on him tighten.

“It's not because of you, so don't go blaming yourself,” Otabek replied firmly, “it was _my_ decision to take a step back from my practice to do something even more important—taking care of you.”

“I am not more important than your fucking career,” Yuri grumbled, but was still all but clinging to the Alpha. “You shouldn't have done that. You _need_ to skate.”

“Yura, you're the most important thing in my life. I'd do anything for you—walk across hot coals, fight a giant squid, go into space without a helmet...even give up skating. I love you.”

“You're so gross,” Yuri teased, his voice more than a little hoarse as he shifted even closer to Otabek and kissed him hard. “But you're not giving up skating, and you're _not_ skipping this season because of me. No, shut up, it _was_ my fault, Beka. Come on, we're going.”

Otabek frowned as Yuri untangled himself from him and moved over to his closet and dug his sports bag out of the mess.

“Where are we going?” Otabek asked, eyeing him quizzically from the bed, having not yet moved from the spot.

“The Arena,” Yuri explained, “I'm going to coach you until Skate Canada. I don't give a shit if I have to sweat blood, you _will_ compete, and you _will_ win gold. Got it?”

Otabek smiled as he regarded the young man before him— _his_ young man. He was puffed up and irritated, and had changed into a pair of black leggings with little regard to the fact that Otabek was sitting right in front of him while he did so.

His determination on Otabek's behalf was endearing, but he still doubted that he could get ready in time for the competition. Even so, he had a feeling that arguing with Yuri would get them nowhere. He appeared determined to get Otabek up to scratch, at least enough to stand a chance of beating the Power Couple, and his surprise at Yuri's reaction was enough to momentarily distract him from the fact that he had gotten changed right in front of Otabek, and any nervousness he may have once exhibited at such an act was nowhere to be seen.

“Beka, my eyes are up here,” Yuri said suddenly, and Otabek realized too late that his eyes had fallen to Yuri's perfectly shaped ass, and his face flushed with embarrassment, he looked up to Yuri and smiled sheepishly. “C'mon, get up. I need to whip you into shape, and I can't do that in bed.”

Otabek arched a suggestive eyebrow, but didn't say a word. Yuri glared at him.

“Shut up, Beka,” Yuri muttered, going very red, while the Alpha stood fluidly, and pecked his Omega lightly.

“You walked into that one, don't blame me,” Otabek replied simply, and Yuri glared at him.

“Whatever, let's go and get your stuff,” Yuri said while he nudged Otabek towards the door, “you're gonna at least beat that little Piggy if I have to make you skate twenty-four hours a day from now until Skate Canada.”

Smiling at Yuri's endearing determination, he allowed himself to be steered out.

 


	12. Doubts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: If you're from Tdot, don't take the logistics in this chapter too much into account. I didn't have access to internet when I was writing this, so I had to make it up. The restaurant that is in the chapter is also totally made up. 
> 
> Special thanks to the ever-brilliant KuriQuinn for helping me with the skating sequences in the following chapters! If you're into Naruto het, definitely check her out! ^.^ 
> 
> Also S/O to reader Chris for pointing out my Russian mistakes, many thanks!

Chapter Eleven – Doubts

 

They had only just gotten to the Holiday Inn in Toronto, and already Otabek wanted to go home.

Yuri was sleeping off his 'jet lag', from the barely one-hour flight to a city that resided in the same time zone, and Otabek was running through his programs in his head, still uncertain if he was ready for the competition. Yuri's unwavering faith in his abilities was heartening, but he still had his doubts. He was competing against world-class skaters, after all, and following all his personal drama with Yuri, Otabek was still uncertain whether he'd practised near enough to even pose a challenge to the other skaters.

“Beka,” a groggy voice said suddenly, and it immediately drew Otabek from his thoughts. “Are you obsessing over it again?”

“No,” Otabek said at once, and Yuri glared at him, “...maybe a little.”

He'd barely finished the admittance before a pillow hit him squarely in the face, and he grunted in surprise.

“Get your ass down to the rink and see your _official_ coach, since you _real_ coach can't be present 'cause he's got tits,” Yuri mumbled without getting up, while Otabek smirked at him a little. “And stop being an idiot, you're as prepared as you can possibly be.”

“Slave driver,” Otabek muttered with a faint smile, and set down the pillow before he dug his sports bag out of his suitcase.

“'S why you love me,” Yuri replied in the same lazy tone of voice, but once more did not move at all as he spoke. Chuckling, Otabek hoisted his bag onto his shoulder, stopped next to Yuri's bed to kiss him goodbye, which earned him a disgruntled whine, but he still returned the small show of affection, though Otabek didn't think his eyes opened at all during the exchange.

“You're so disgusting,” Yuri said affectionately as he settled back into the bed, “get out of here and show your coach just how much you've improved.”

Without another word, Otabek slipped from the room and headed out to the arena.

Working out the finer details of their trip to Toronto had been a sore subject for the couple, in particular because it was imperative that the other skaters _not_ see or recognize Yuri—they weren't stupid, and it wouldn't take much for them to work out that if Otabek was involved with Yuri, then that would mean that he was an Alpha.

Of course, this was a ridiculous prejudicial view, but Otabek had seen it happen more than once where a normal man would be involved with an Alpha or Omega, and immediately wild assumptions would be thrown at him. He'd rather diminish the chances of that happening, and so they'd decided early on that Yuri would go in disguise, and despite how much it killed them both, Yuri would resist the urge to watch him from the rinkside.

Otabek stepped out of the hotel and into the blustery cold of the late autumn day, and began the short walk from their hotel to the rink. As he walked, his mind went back over the last few months, and Yuri's endearing impromptu self-nomination of himself as Otabek's coach, and his highly entertaining encouragement tactics.

 

“ _No, no, no! Your free leg is too sloppy!” Yuri barked, and Otabek groaned. “Are you a skater or not?”_

“ _Slave driver...” Otabek grumbled as he adjusted his posture._

“ _I heard that!”_

_Otabek ignored Yuri's indignant cry, and circled the ice, bowed forward and moved with his head in his hands, then straightened up as he broke into a quad, followed by a second, but on the third his leg cramped at the wrong moment, and he fell hard with a grunt._

_A shadow loomed suddenly over him, and he looked up to see Yuri holding out his hand. Otabek accepted it, and pulled himself to his feet with the Omega's help._

“ _I sometimes forget that despite your 'Dark Horse' thing you do, you're the biggest sap I've ever seen,” Yuri said, his voice dropping to a low murmur that could almost be described as sultry. “You know what might help? If you had some sort of goal to focus on that might keep you from fucking up.”_

“ _Yuri, what—”_

_Otabek's question was cut off with a kiss, but it wasn't a simple peck like he would have expected, but deep and passionate. He could feel Yuri stand on his toes in his skates and press his chest against Otabek's, and his lips massaged over Otabek's in such well-practised movements that it struck Otabek dumb._

_It took his brain a moment to catch up with the reality of what was happening before he began to kiss the Omega back._

_When Yuri finally pulled away his cheeks were tinted pink, and he was gazing up at Otabek with a look like confused desire on his face—as though he wanted it, but feared it at the same time. Otabek smiled at him, and Yuri mirrored it before he leant in to kiss him again._

“ _Will this help you focus on your performance?” he purred, and Otabek laughed._

“ _I think it's having the opposite effect, actually.”_

 

The memory carried Otabek all the way out of the hotel, across the street, and two blocks over to the amphitheatre. He showed his pass to one of the guards, and then slipped into the changing room, where he found his official coach waiting for him.

Orlov was in many ways very much like Yakov. He was stern, stony-faced, and older, having turned sixty-three the past March. That was where the similarities between the two ended. Orlov, despite his age, had never let himself go to seed, and he was still tall, broad, and striking, built more like a hockey player than a former figure skater. His eyes were dark, his hair was a mixture of black and silver, and his skin was dark and leathery, as though he was a man who had spent most of his life outside.

“Otabak, it's been a while,” he said in Russian, and Otabek immediately switched languages.

“Yeah,” Otabek agreed, “thank you for letting me go to Canada alone, it helped clear my head.”

“Are you sure you're prepared enough for the competition?” he asked, and narrowed his eyes a little, “last time I checked, you weren't practising nearly as often as you should have.”

“I had help preparing,” Otabek answered, and bit the inside of his cheek in an effort to keep himself from smiling at the thought of Yuri, “I'm as ready as I'll ever be.”

Orlov eyed Otabek curiously, as though he was tempted to ask who had been helping him, but in the end it seemed as though he decided that he'd rather not know, and turned towards the doors to the rink.

“Get your skates on,” he said as he headed out, “and let me see what you've come up with.”

Smiling to himself, Otabek dropped down onto one of the benches and began to unlace his boots.

 

Otabek was revelling in the peace and quiet of the changing room, and had been tucking away his sports bag in one of the available lockers when the silence was broken by the loud chatter of several people coming in.

He whirled around, and the group skidded to a halt.

Otabek narrowed his eyes as he glared at Yakov, Yuuri, and Viktor in turn, all of whom appeared somewhat startled by his presence.

“Otabek!” Viktor was the first to break the silence, and he threw his arms wide in greeting as though he was completely unaffected by the tense and awkward atmosphere. “It's been too long. How have you been? I heard you were back to training in Canada, where—”

Otabek did not even bother to say anything—his anger at the sight of them was too strong, and he worried that he might blurt out the wrong thing if he opened his mouth. Instead, he stood and strode out of the room and towards the rink as though deaf to Viktor's greeting. He could hear Yuuri tittering about his rudeness, but he couldn't care less. What he _really_ wanted to do was go back in and rearrange all of their faces for what they had done to Yuri— _his_ Yuri—but he reigned in the impulse. Yuri would kill him if he got himself disqualified for fighting.

Besides, there would be plenty of time for that _after_ he beat them all to the gold.

“Took you long enough,” Orlov grunted as Otabek set his water bottle on top of the barricade's edge, and balanced himself on one foot as he removed his skate guards one by one. “What music have you chosen for your routines?”

“Wagner's _Ride of the Valkyries_ for my Short Program, and Holst's _The Planets, Mars, Bringer of War,_ for my Free Program,” Otabek replied smoothly, and Orlov huffed.

“Going all-out with your Dark Horse image this year, are you?” he asked, and Otabek couldn't help but smirk. “All right then, show me the Short first.”

Otabek went through the Short Program's routine, and the image of Yuri in his head was both distracting and inspiring all at once. He made it through the program flawlessly, and Orlov had no critiques to it whatsoever. He jerked his head in a small, approving nod, then Otabek went through his Free Program. Similarly, Orlov had no outright protests to the choreography, but threw out tidbits of suggestions, which Otabek accepted without complaint.

“You'll need to pace yourself more,” Orlov said as Otabek skated over to the edge of the rink and grabbed his water bottle. “It's a solid routine, but you have too many quads in the first half—you're exhausting yourself, and the second half of your program gets a little sloppy.”

Otabek nodded as he took a long drink, while Orlov drew out a pad of post-it notes and a pen, and the pair of them began to work on how to rearrange the jumps in an order that would keep Otabek from tiring too quickly, without taking away from the intensity of the performance.

The discussion seemed to last longer than the actual practice itself, but by the time Otabek had left the ice some two hours later, he felt more confident than he had before—if both Yuri _and_ his coach approved his performances, then maybe he did have a chance at winning, after all.

 

~*~

 

The following evening, behind a mask of calm, Otabek was feeling slightly sick.

The ice had never looked more like a battlefield to him, and not having Yuri nearby was making him extra jittery.

Viktor Nikiforov, Yuuri Katsuki, and JJ Leroy had all gone ahead of him and he was to be fourth. Afterwards, it would be Phichit Chulanont and Emil Nekola. Their scores, while high, were nowhere near the numbers Otabek had seen in recent years. Viktor and Yuuri's scores were both 104.93 and 103.12 respectively, while JJ's was a modest 99.92—though he was still as annoyingly arrogant as ever. Otabek had been careful to give the Canadien a wide berth—with his appearance so close to the would-be rapist, Michel, Otabek was concerned that he might impulsively punch JJ in the face. Of course, JJ was almost always doing something that warranted a punch in the face, but given that Otabek's over-enthusiasm might lead to missing teeth or a broken nose, he curbed the impulse.

 

“ _The next skater, representing Kazakhstan...”_

 

The overhead voice announced his name just as Otabek moved to shrug off his jacket, and his phone buzzed at the same moment. He pulled it out, and smiled at the single-word text from Yuri.

 

_Davai._

 

He quickly sent back a thumbs-up emoticon, then shrugged the jacket off, displaying his costume for the Program—black and silver with a red sash, designed to mimic the armour that a Norse God may have worn in battle. He handed the jacket to his coach before he took to the ice amidst a gale of excited cheers. He circled the arena once in greeting, then moved to the centre, and bowed his head. He tried to tune out the voices of the announcers and focus only on the music as the first quivering notes began.

 

_I am a soldier on the battlefield,_ he thought, moving his arms in time with the music as he moved into the first combination jump. He landed it easily, to a loud cheer from the audience. _More than that, I am a soldier avenging my fallen comrade..._

Otabek turned, and skated backward, weaving his feet, his knees tense, and the sharp, icy wind bit into his cheeks as his eyes searched the crowd and sides of the rink for the killers of his lover's career—Yuuri, Viktor, Yakov—he was pleased at the alarmed looks that crossed their faces when their eyes locked. Overhead, Otabek could dimly hear the commentator shouting out his jumps as he moved into them.

 

“ _Quadruple flip, triple toe loop, triple lutz—Yes! He's landed them all! Very clean!”_

 

Otabek's legs felt dangerously stiff from the strain he was putting on them, even as around him the crowd screamed excitedly at his successful jumps. He managed to stay standing, for which he was grateful, and moved into the second half of his routine.

Otabek and threw out his arms as he moved, his neck curling back on his shoulders, and his stony gaze set skyward. He felt like a diving raptor seeking out its prey, instead of the flighty songbird many other skaters may have attempted to replicate with such a stance.

His prey—all those who have wronged his Yuri.

Otabek was coming upon the finale of his performance, and keeping his face expressionless, to not show the deep swell of emotion—his rage, his anguish, his deep sorrow at what rested upon his shoulders—the need to win this, not for himself, but for Yuri—felt like the most difficult thing that he had ever done. Stabbing ice picks stung his lungs with every breath, and he wheezed from the strain of it. It was a freeing, euphoric pain, and Otabek revelled in it.

 

“— _Quadruple toe loop, triple flip...yes, another successful set of jumps from Mr Altin!—”_

 

The blades of his skates collided with a sharp _clack_ , then he moved into a combination spin, then he folded in on himself, his arms crossing across his chest as he fell hard to his knees.

The world came flooding back, and amidst the roaring crowd Otabek stayed still as he gasped for breath, his body trembled, and he felt almost afraid to move. His thoughts, fixated as they were on Yuri and nothing else had immobilized him. He had nothing more to give.

 

“ _We have witnessed here the birth of a new Otabek Altin!”_ cried the commentator, _“amazing! Are you watching this, Mr Nikiforov?”_

 

Slowly, Otabek's eyes slid open, and he looked up to see cellophane wrapped roses, plush toys, and even a few bras littering the ice. When Otabek felt strong enough to stand, he pushed himself up onto shaking legs, and he glided to the edge of the ice without acknowledging the audience once.

“Whatever has been driving you lately, keep it up,” Orlov said approvingly as he handed Otabek his skate guards and jacket. “That was your best performance yet. I think you're about to make a lot of people very nervous.”

Otabek smirked but didn't verbally answer, and followed his coach to the area to wait for his score, while he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Still slightly dazed from the performance, he didn't immediately answer it, and instead continued to numbly follow his coach away from the rink.

He sat down on the bench and accepted a towel from Orlov, and mopped his face before he sipped on his water bottle as he waited for his score.

It flashed on the screen above him. Even as the crowd screamed and his coach jumped up excitedly, Otabek could hardly believe what he was seeing.

 

_115.97_

 

He was in first place.

Not only that, he had blown right past both Viktor Nikiforov's and Yuuri Katsuki's world records.

A hand came down hard on his back and he jerked forward sharply.

“Great job, Otabek,” Orlov said proudly, “now they _really_ know that you're a force to be reckoned with.”

Otabek nodded, but still felt a little numb as they vacated the bench and Otabek mechanically went though a handful of interviews, they all asking some variation of the same questions over and over—how it felt to have beaten two gold-medallists with such relative ease, where his inspiration had come from—Otabek was consciously aware that he was answering the questions, but when he looked back on it, he could not recall what he had said. Now that his Short Program was over, he just wanted to find Yuri and _actually_ celebrate.

 

Once he'd finished with the interviews, he was finally able to fish out his phone, and found a single text from Yuri.

 

_Meet me in the unisex single-stall washroom on the third floor._

 

Otabek felt zero guilt about turning his back on the Thai skater heading onto the ice, and made his way over to the elevators. On the way, he passed the Power Couple, and he caught sight of Viktor opening his mouth as though he intended to say something, but Otabek kept walking as though he hadn't noticed, more than a little pleased at how utterly dumbstruck the pair seemed to be.

 

The Alpha found the washroom Yuri had mentioned easily, and he tapped three times on the door with his nail. The lock clicked open, and a single green eye peered out at him. Yuri opened the door wider, and Otabek slipped inside.

The door hadn't even fully shut before Otabek could feel Yuri's breasts squishing against his chest, and the Omega's mouth pressing hard against his own.

“You were fucking amazing,” Yuri said against his mouth. Otabek backed into the stall door and blindly locked it, while Yuri lifted himself onto the Alpha, his ankles hooking at his back, and his arms wrapping securely around his neck. “I've never in my life seen the little piggy look so freaked out—no, not freaked out... _terrified._ You looked ready to kill. It was _so_ hot.”

“I didn't realize you were so turned on by scaring others,” Otabek purred, while he moved to cradle Yuri's ass in his hands, using it both as an excuse to give it a squeeze, and to keep him balanced. Yuri tensed a little at the touch, but when Otabek did nothing more than hold him, he relaxed, and kissed him again.

“Only people who deserve it,” Yuri replied, and pulled back a little to look at Otabek, while Otabek, in turn, was given the opportunity to look Yuri over.

The Omega had claimed he was going to go _incognito_ while they were in Toronto, just in case, but at the same time, it seemed as though Yuri was wholly incapable of wearing anything that would make him _not_ stand out. Otabek couldn't exactly complain, however—Yuri looked practically _edible_. Yuri was dressed in a tight women's cut black tank top and lacy lime-green bra deliberately poking out of the edges, with overpriced black skinny jeans and his trademark Vans knockoffs.

“And Yuuri and Viktor deserve it?” Otabek queried with a small smirk, one which Yuri mirrored at once.

“What, you think they don't?”

“Did I _say_ that?”

“Well, no...” Yuri replied, still perched in Otabek's arms, and the Alpha leant forward to offer Yuri another kiss.

“Those two deserve to be dragged across hot coals, naked and face down,” Otabek said simply, “if they were true friends, they would have told Yakov to fuck off and stuck by you. Instead, they turned their backs on you. I could never forgive them for what they put you through. Tomorrow, I will be your vengeance, since you can't do it yourself—I'll grind their so-called _world records_ into the dirt.”

Yuri kissed Otabek hard following his proclamation, and Otabek staggered backward into the door.

“You're the best boyfriend, ever,” Yuri whispered. His voice a little hoarse, and Otabek shifted his grip on Yuri to hold him up with one arm, while the other moved to cradle his chin, and he kissed his Omega again.

“I think that's the first time you've called me your boyfriend.”

“Want me to take it back?”

“Did I _say_ that?” Otabek repeated the statement, and both of them laughed as their lips met again.

 

~*~

 

Later that evening, Yuri layered a black hoodie over his tank top, while his gaze routinely flicked to the hotel room door, as though it had teeth.

“I'm paying you back for this, Beka,” Yuri said for what was likely the hundredth time in the last hour.

“Why can't you just accept it as a gift, Yura?” Otabek asked while he shrugged into his leather jacket, and the comment earned him a glare.

“It's too big of a _gift_ , Beka,” Yuri replied evenly, “I'll pay you back for it, I mean it.”

“All right, all right...” Otabek waved a dismissive hand, then swept in for a quick kiss, “I'll meet you at the corner, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Yuri replied, his mouth tugged into a small frown. This time however, Otabek understood the sour attitude. They had to be so careful not just that Yuri wasn't recognized by the other skaters that were in the hotel with them, but that they weren't seen together, either.

Otabek personally felt that maybe Yuri was being a little _too_ over-cautious, but he knew his heart was in the right place regardless. He'd fully blame himself if Otabek was accidentally 'outed' and forced to stop skating, and as a result he was doing everything that he could to keep that from happening.

Thankfully, the other skaters had little to say to Otabek to begin with, and he made it out of the hotel without speaking to a single person, then rounded the corner and stopped near a newspaper dispenser to wait.

It was over ten minutes later before Yuri showed up, and he looked even grumpier than he had in the hotel room.

“Hey,” Otabek said as he took his hand, “what took you so—why do you smell like the first two aisles of a Maxi?”

“Shut up, Beka,” Yuri snapped as they began to walk, “I was on my way, but I saw Viktor and his Piggy and I had to hide in a janitor's closet.”

“Do you think they saw you?” Otabek asked, his brow furrowing with concern, but Yuri snorted derisively.

“No,” Yuri replied at once, “they were all over each other being a gross lovey-dovey couple. Michelle Kwan could have hosted a strip-show in the lobby and they wouldn't have noticed.”

“So...worse than us?”

“No comparison,” Yuri said as he smirked, “we're...well...not gross and lame.”

“You call me gross all the time,” Otabek pointed out, and Yuri rolled his eyes.

“You're a gross romantic, they're just _gross_.”

“Okay then,” Otabek replied with a small laugh and let the train of conversation go, just as they stopped outside a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant, and Otabek felt Yuri freeze next to him. He waited for a moment, but when Yuri did not move, he decided to try prompting him.

“Yuri?” Otabek said softly, but still he did not move.

“What if he doesn't want to see me?” Yuri whispered, his tone losing its fire, and now it was laced with genuine fear. Without missing a beat, Otabek withdrew his hand from Yuri's, and pulled the Omega into a tight hug.

“Would he have flown over four thousand miles if he didn't want to see you?” Otabek asked as Yuri buried his face in the crook of his neck, and shivered as Otabek's hold on him tightened a little. “He loves you like a son—more, I think. Of course he wants to see you, you know that, right?”

“I—I know,” Yuri mumbled, his breath tickling Otabek's throat as he spoke, “I'm just nervous.”

“You don't need to be,” Otabek replied encouragingly, “now come on, he's waiting for us.”

Nodding his head, Yuri took a moment to compose himself before he took Otabek's hand again, and the pair slipped into the restaurant.

Given that their guest did not speak very much English, and they wanted him to feel at home, they had chosen a little Russian restaurant that was known for its familiar, home-style fare. Otabek was looking forward to that aspect of the evening as much as the company itself—it had been a long time since he'd had good, traditional Russian food.

Yuri walked at Otabek's side stiffly, his nervousness practically coming off him in waves, and his hand was tense in Otabek's. They wove through the restaurant towards the back, and Otabek was somewhat relieved when they finally reached their table, because Yuri's grip on him was so tight that his fingers were beginning to go numb.

Yuri skidded to a stop about three feet from the booth, and he stared at the solitary occupant with wide eyes. The old man smiled at him, and using his cane, he pulled himself to his feet. The man's hair was a little greyer, a little less dark than it had been three years earlier, there were a few new wrinkles upon his face, but he was still completely recognizable, and despite the open, joyous look on Nikolai Plisetsky's face, Yuri looked terrified.

“Yuratchka,” he said warmly as he opened his arms to his grandson, and at the single word, Yuri broke.

“ _Grandpa!_ ” he choked out, just barely above a whisper as he rushed forward, and Nikolai held his grandson while the Omega wept into his shoulder, and he gently patted his back as he cried.

“Oh, Yuratchka,” he said adoringly, “my strong, brave grandson, look at you. I'm so proud of you.”

“I'm sorry, Grandpa,” Yuri choked, and lifted a fist to roughly rub at his eyes, a hiccough escaping past his lips before he could stop it.

“ _Synok,_ why are you sorry?” Nikolai asked, and Yuri sniffled as he looked up at his grandfather.

“I was scared to see you. I was s-scared you wouldn't want to see me because of...well, what I am.”

“Fear is a weakness, Yuratchka, but it is not a sin,” Nikolai said gently, “you had your whole world taken away from you, and you're still so strong, even if you do not feel it. You will always be my grandson, no matter what.” He pulled Yuri in for another hug, then motioned to the table, while he looked over to acknowledge Otabek at last with a small nod of greeting, though it was no less warm than the greeting he had offered his grandson. “Come, let us eat.”

As their evening progressed, Otabek watched in amazement as Yuri bloomed like a flower in springtime. His smiles came more easily, his petulant attitude was completely absent, and he regaled his grandfather with all the good things he had been up to since his departure from Russia all those years ago. He made no mention of his recent difficulties, and Otabek smiled as he watched the pair catch up. The unconditional love the two shared was enviable, and privately Otabek prayed that Nikolai would be around long enough to see the discrimination of their kind dissolve, and see his grandson take to the ice once again.

As Otabek watched them chatter, Yuri almost completely oblivious to Otabek's presence—save for the fingers intertwined with his under the table—Otabek prayed that that day when Yuri would return to the ice would come sooner, rather than later.

For he knew no one who deserved it more.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Maxi is one of the grocery store chains here. The first two aisles contain cleaning products and pet food and stuff.
> 
> Synok - Boy. Term of endearment for a younger man by an elderly person.
> 
> Since in the anime Yuri refers to Nikolai as Grandpa/Ojichan(I've only watched the subbed version, so I've no idea if this holds true for the dubbed version as well), I decided against Yuri calling him Dedushka.


	13. On Brave Mountains We Conquer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Special thanks to KuriQuinn for betaing the skate performance scene in this chapter. Apologies in advance for the shortness, the next one will be longer, I promise! ^^

Chapter Twelve – On Brave Mountains We Conquer

 

“Generally it's not a great idea to compete hungover, but, Beka, I swear to God, if you don't go to sleep I'm going to force-feed you tequila until you pass out.”

“Isn't that statutory rape or something?” Otabek mumbled from his bed without getting up. He picked up his phone and glared at the lock screen—two AM.

“I think it's only statutory rape if I actually rape you,” Yuri pointed out, and Otabek grunted. “In this case I'd just be knocking you out so you would have a decent night's sleep before your Free Skate tomorrow—well, _today_.”

“So drinking me into a coma or whatever you're doing is out of the goodness of your heart?” Otabek asked, and rolled over to stare at Yuri in the opposite bed. Otabek's eyes were itchy, and he wanted to sleep, but his brain refused to turn off.

“Something like that...” Yuri replied as he stood up with an exaggerated groan, and stretched.

“What're you doing?” Otabek asked in the same groggy tone, but Yuri didn't answer as he crossed the two-foot space to Otabek's bed and lay down next to him. At that precise moment, Otabek was thoroughly grateful for two things—first, that the heat season was behind them, and thus he had a much better handle on his Alpha instincts, and second, that Yuri was still taking his suppressants. As always, he smelt positively divine to Otabek, but the suppressants did help calm his bodily reactions to the closeness of the Omega.

“Well I always sleep better when my cats are nearby,” Yuri explained, his cheeks tinting pink a little as he shimmied closer to Otabek, the shine in his eyes from the streetlamps outside showing his uncertainty. “And...well, I thought maybe...this might help you sleep?”

_More like the opposite effect..._ Otabek thought as he let out another grunt and wrapped an arm lazily around Yuri's middle to draw him close, but he was also careful to keep his touch gentle, so as to not startle the young man, knowing full well how restricting his movements might upset him.

“Your mind works in weird ways, Yura,” Otabek murmured before he leant in to brush his lips over Yuri's in a light kiss, “but resting in the same bed with you is much better than any cat.”

Yuri shifted in Otabek's hold, and he felt his heart flutter a little as the Omega rolled over and draped an arm across Otabek's abdomen, while he used the right side of Otabek's chest as a makeshift pillow. Yuri seemed to need the physical contact even more than Otabek did, for in minutes he was asleep, and had wiggled halfway on top of the Alpha, very much like the cat his fans used to paint him as. Otabek turned ever so slightly, while being careful to avoid dislodging his Omega, and brushed a kiss against his temple.

“I love you, Yuri,” Otabek whispered, and Yuri cuddled closer to him with a contented sigh. Otabek smiled, and moved a hand to his hair, and ran his fingers through the soft, long strands until he finally fell asleep.

 

~*~

 

Despite going to bed the previous night to a decent night's sleep thanks in no small part to Yuri's nagging, Otabek woke the following day feeling shaky and a bit queasy, as though he had not slept at all. Yuri ordered room service while Otabek showered, and when he exited the washroom in just his track pants, a towel draped over his shoulders, he was greeted by the smell of fresh pastries and good coffee, and his stomach gave an audible rumble.

Yuri looked up from arranging to food and drink nicely on their little table, and went very pink as he took in Otabek's attire (or lack thereof). Otabek bit the inside of his cheek in an effort to stifle his pleased smile at Yuri's reaction, and instead strode over to the table without comment.

“Smells good,” Otabek offered as he picked up his coffee and a chocolate-dipped croissant, while Yuri glowered at him and slid a bowl of fruit salad over to him pointedly. Chuckling, he accepted it.

“Call it a thank you for last night,” Yuri replied at last as he helped himself to a cup of his own, “it was good to see my grandfather again...I've missed him.”

“I know that you have,” Otabek replied as he reached across the table and squeezed Yuri's hand, “maybe when we get home we can talk about having him come for a real visit...or something.”

Otabek busied himself with his breakfast as Yuri responded to the suggestion a noncommittal grunt. He speared a piece of pineapple with a fork, and he watched as Yuri fiddled with his coffee cup, but wasn't really eating anything.

“Are you all right, Yura?” Otabek asked while he reached forward with his foot, and hooked his ankle around Yuri's. Yuri glanced up at him, then dropped his gaze back to the cup in his hands as he heaved a sigh.

“I wish I could go home.”

“We'll be going home in a couple days—”

“—that's not what I mean,” Yuri interrupted, his voice soft and very un-Yuri-like. The sound of it made Otabek's stomach twist with anguish for the Omega. “I wish I could go _home_. To Russia. To see my grandfather there, instead of forcing him to come all the way out here. I wish I could at least go and visit home without worrying that someone might kill me if they find out what I am.”

Otabek set down his fork and shifted until he was not sitting across from Yuri anymore, but right next to him. Without saying a word, he plucked the coffee cup from the Omega's hands, and pulled Yuri into his lap. Yuri's cheeks turned a deep scarlet, but his eyes still carried a heavy sadness to them, and it broke Otabek's heart to see it.

With one arm wrapped around his waist, Otabek lifted his opposite hand to cradle Yuri's cheek, and he guided him into a feather-light kiss.

“Yuri,” Otabek murmured, his mouth a scant few millimetres from Yuri's, “One day, you will. Right now, they hate us, but in the end, prejudice never wins. It may take years, but one day, you _will_ be able to go home, and you _will_ skate again.”

Yuri lurched forward and kissed Otabek, while Otabek, in turn, drew him closer. Yuri let out a small whimper, and Otabek brushed away the tears on the Omega's cheeks without comment.

“How is it that even when at my worst, you can make me feel so...so...happy. Happier than I've ever been. How do you do that?”

“It's a gift,” Otabek murmured softly, and squeezed Yuri gently. “You mean more to me than you'll ever know, Yura. Even when you're bitchy and grumpy, you're still perfect to me.”

Yuri turned bright red at Otabek's admission, but he seemed at a loss for words, and merely latched his arms around Otabek's neck and held tightly to him.

 

~*~

 

Yuri and Otabek hardly left the hotel room that day, Nikolai joining them around lunchtime under the pretense that he had struck up a close friendship with Otabek. Otabek had intended to take a step back to allow Nikolai and Yuri some private time, but the older man consistently pulled him back into the conversation, treating him less like a stranger or even a friend, and more like a second grandson. For Otabek, it was deeply heartwarming to be included in their conversations, and he had no idea how to express his thanks appropriately, beyond some small smiles at the older man.

As evening began to set in, Otabek packed up his sports bag in preparation for the Free Skate, and he grimaced when he took note of how his hands were trembling a little.

“Well, Yuratchka,” Nikolai said as he hefted himself to his feet with the help of his cane, “I will see you at the arena, yes?”

“Yeah,” Yuri nodded, “we called a taxi for you, Grandpa, it'll be outside waiting.”

“You're a good boy,” Nikolai said with a small smile, and clapped Yuri on his shoulder. “One day, these people will see that whether you are an Omega, a normal man, or a normal woman, you still deserve to be treated with the respect and dignity that you deserve.”

“Thanks, Grandpa,” Yuri replied, and offered the older man a small, meek smile. Nikolai nodded his head once and turned his attention to Otabek.

“Good luck tonight, Mr Altin, the way my Yuratchka talks, you are most likely to win. We will be cheering for you.”

“Thank you, Mr Plisetsky,” Otabek replied with a small nod of his head, “I'm confident in my performance, we'll see how it turns out.”

Nikolai nodded his head once and offered Otabek a small smile, then turned to head out of the room. The couple listened to the soft clicking of the old man's cane down the hall, then when it faded into the distance, they both turned to face each other.

“Gonna wish me luck?” Otabek asked, and cocked a brow at the Omega. Yuri met the expression with a grin, and threw himself at Otabek, pulling him into a hard kiss.

“You don't need it,” Yuri replied against his mouth, while Otabek wrapped his arms around Yuri's waist to hold him there a moment longer.

“Say it,” Otabek said in a commanding whisper.

“ _Davai_ ,” Yuri replied, his tone a little breathless, his face flushed, and Otabek kissed him again. Despite the poor timing, Otabek longed to do more than just kiss, and if how Yuri was clinging to him was any indication, he may not have protested it either. “Ngh, Beka, you need to go,” Yuri reminded him in a weak tone, “if you're late...”

Otabek let go of Yuri with a groan, and forced himself to step back. He offered his Omega a thumbs up as he reached the door, to which Yuri rolled his eyes and shooed him out of the door.

 

~*~

 

Otabek sat in the changing room, out of sight of the rink, the other skaters, and the audience.

Even so, he could hear the muffled music as well as the cheers and groans of the crowd, but he had no desire to watch any of it. He could care less about the routines of the other skaters—he knew the basics, how many quads each of them had in their Free Programs, but beyond that he felt that watching them was wholly unnecessary.

His vision was clouded, and he felt as though he was sitting in a desert, the heat warping his surroundings, and he felt very dizzy.

_I can do this,_ he thought fervently, _I need to do this—for Yuri._

“Otabek,” said a sudden voice, and he turned to see his coach standing by the doors with his arms crossed. “It's time.”

Otabek stood on shaky legs and followed his coach out to the rink, while he gave himself a little shake.

_I need to calm down,_ he thought as he took a small sip of water from his bottle to wet his parched mouth, and stiffly shed his jacket and removed his skate guards as he stepped onto the ice. _This is no time to freeze up._

“Your performance is strong, Otabek,” Orlov said firmly, and reached out to squeeze Otabek's shoulder. “You have all the tools you need to win. Stay focused on your goal. Nothing else matters.”

 

_Nothing else matters._

 

Otabek offered his coach a short nod and his eyes scanned the audience. High above, he spotted Nikolai next to what appeared to be a slender young woman with the hood of their hoodie pulled up, and they both offered him a small nod of encouragement.

 

“ _The final skater, representing Kazakhstan...Otabek Altin!_ ”

 

Otabek circled the ice to a roar from the audience, and he lifted his hand lazily in greeting. The cheers seemed strangely muted in his ears, as though he was hearing them through a long, narrow tunnel. That did not matter to Otabek, however—all that mattered was winning gold—not for himself, but _for Yuri_.

The outfit that Otabek had chosen for his performance was red and black—the colours of Mars. Its style and cut made it appear less like a simple ensemble, and closer to armour, as though he was not about to skate, but go to war.

Otabek stopped in the centre of the ice. He crossed his arms across his chest, and bowed his head. Slowly, like an encroaching army, the percussion and horn arrangements rose in a slow, steady crescendo. Otabek looked up, his face set like a general leading his troops into battle. He began to move; his step sequence was steady , confident, and as the tempo jumped up, so did he, moving into a triple axel, and he heard the crowd cheer his success.

He circled the ice again, his expression stony and set, and the next set of jumps came in quick succession.

 

“ _Triple toe loop, triple lutz, and a quadruple Salchow—oh, over-rotation!”_

 

Otabek hissed a curse as the commentator announced his mistake to the groaning crowd, but did not allow himself to stop as he continued his performance.

The tempo dropped down again, soft horns and strings, encroaching snare drums. His step sequence mirrored the slow crescendo, and as the music grew more intense, so did his performance. The jumps came faster, with a higher difficulty, and Otabek struggled to maintain his composure—he breathed hard through his nose, his chest heaved, and he moved in for another quad, a triple flip, and he circled the ice backward arms spread wide, before he turned and moved in for his next toe loop, but landed badly and grunted as he fell hard on the ice.

Otabek jumped to his feet and continued, for the moment not allowing his panic at his mess-up to cloud his mind. He focused instead on the coming jumps and step sequence, then at last the combination spin. His body protested each movement, his muscles had begun to ache as though he hadn't done any warm-up exercises, but the image in his mind of Yuri— _his_ Yuri—kept him moving.

The music ended as Otabek skidded to a stop in the centre of the ice, and he dropped to one knee, head bowed and arms crossed in front of him.

The world came rushing back, but for a long moment, Otabek felt as though he could not move. His eyes shut, he felt a strange disconnect from his body, and he shuddered violently from exhaustion.

 

_Was it enough?_

 

_Had it been enough?_

 

Otabek almost didn't want to know the answer to his questions as his mind jumped to his the minor mistakes that had marred his performance, and he grimaced. If he didn't manage it, how would he face Yuri?

He stood slowly, and lifted his hand in recognition of the crowd's cheers, while around him the ice was littered with roses and plush toys—most of which seemed to be black horses. He ignored it all as he moved up to the rink side, and looked at his coach imploringly. He nodded his head once, but his expression did not change.

Otabek wiped his skate blades off and fitted the guards in place, then accepted his sports jacket back from Orlov, and immediately checked his phone. One solitary text from Yuri glowed on the lock screen.

 

_If you don't breathe, you'll faint. Fainting never looks good on international TV._

 

Otabek huffed a small laugh, and followed his coach out to the benches to await his result. Both Yuuri and Viktor were in the first and second place respectively, and their scores were so high that Otabek consistently forgot the numbers every time he looked away, his internal panic so intense that his mind went blank every time he tried to recall them.

In the short walk from the rink to his seat where he and his coach would wait for his score, he received three more short text from Yuri, reminding him to breathe, while he stared up at the board of numbers. Both Yuuri and Viktor had totals of just over three hundred, but with his two mistakes, would he even have a chance of making it onto the podium?

His fingers dug into the fabric of his costume, when suddenly a hand came down on his back, and the crowd roared around him. Otabek blinked, and he could hear Orlov yelling in his ear. It took him a long moment for him to work out what he was saying.

 

“ _You did it! You did it!_ ”

 

Otabek glanced up at the board to see his total score.

 

_Otabek Altin – 310.42_

 

Exactly one-tenth of a point above Yuuri Katsuki's 310.41

 

He'd done it.

 


	14. Shall We Skate?

Chapter Thirteen – Shall We Skate?

 

Otabek stood on the ice in his skates, tapping the toe of the blade against the hard, smooth surface as he waited.

The arena was completely empty, and every time Otabek moved or even _coughed_ he could hear an unnervingly loud echo around him. He skated around the edges of the rink to let off his feelings, and smiled idly to himself as he thought back on the last twenty-four hours in an effort to distract himself from his present impatience.

 

The medals ceremony had barely registered in his mind—it was practically a nonevent to him. It was the celebratory dinner afterwards with Nikolai and Yuri that had been much more fun. Yuri could not stop voicing his extreme joy at Otabek beating Yuuri by such a narrow margin, and both Otabek and Nikolai could not stop laughing and smiling at the Omega. It had been a _very_ long time since either of them had seen him so happy. Following the dinner, Yuri did not even hesitate when he climbed into bed with Otabek that night, and snuggled soundly into his side.

Those memories, more than his gold medal, were what Otabek _knew_ that he would always treasure.

 

A disturbance near the entrance to the rink drew Otabek from his thoughts, and he smiled when he saw Yuri there in his skates, while he eyed Otabek uncertainly. Smiling, he glided over to where his Omega stood.

“Okay, so what's this all about?” Yuri asked the moment Otabek was close enough, “I get this weird cryptic text from you, _Meet me at the arena, bring your skates_ , and I don't even remember _packing_ them...what are you up to?”

Otabek did not answer, but instead he held out his hand. He did not say a word as he arched a brow invitingly at the younger man, and waited patiently as Yuri shook his head, peeled off his black hoodie to reveal a fitted solid black tank top beneath, with the graphic of hyper-realistic human ribs and spinal column on it. He then removed his skate guards and set both items down on the barricade, then skated over to close the remaining distance between him and his Alpha.

“Seriously, Beka,” Yuri said as he moved into the Alpha's personal space, and Otabek immediately took his hands. “What are you up to?”

Again, Otabek didn't answer. He pulled Yuri in for a kiss, one which he returned readily, and he pulled his hands from Otabek's hold to reach up and wrap his arms around Otabek's neck. He inched forward until they were pressed fast against each other, while Otabek's own hands lifted to thread his fingers through Yuri's, and his arms dropped down, the digits intertwined with Otabek's—his Alpha.

“Skate with me,” Otabek said at last, and Yuri blinked in confusion.

“What?”

“We're alone,” Otabek explained, “we've got the ice to ourselves, and I _just so happen_ to have a little Bluetooth speaker with some music on it. Skate with me, Yura.”

Yuri offered him a weak smile—it had likely been a very long time since he'd been on a professional rink like this, and he seemed to be caught between flattery at Otabek's request, and hurt at the same time. Otabek did not feel overly offended by the reaction—it had to be bittersweet, to be so close, and yet so far from the thing he loved so much.

Otabek chose to not comment on it, and he led Yuri to the centre of the ice while he withdrew a little remote for the speaker, and he hit play.

Otabek would have liked to have chosen something purely romantic, but he had a feeling that Yuri would not appreciate that very much, and as such he had delved into his 1970s Rock playlist for something more appropriate, and as the first strums of the guitar filled the silence, Yuri's expression brightened, and Otabek knew immediately that he'd made the right choice.

 

_Touched_

_You say that I am too  
So much of what you say is true_

_I'll never find someone quite like you again_

_I'll never find someone quite like you, like you_

 

They circled the ice hand-in-hand, their free arms widespread. Otabek lowered his arm and reached for Yuri, and he followed the Alpha's movements with ease. Otabek threw him out in a spin before he drew Yuri back to him, crushing his Omega against his chest. Yuri had a starry-eyed, faraway look in his eyes that brought a Yuri-Only smile to Otabek's face.

 

__  
The razors and the dying roses  
Plead I don't leave you alone  
The demigods and hungry ghosts  
God, god knows I'm not at home  
  
I'll never find someone quite like you again  
I'll never find someone quite like you again

 

The tempo jumped up, and Otabek moved to lift Yuri, which, given that they were freestyling, did not end well. They both fell in a jumbled heap of limbs and skates, and giggled like a pair of schoolkids as they got to their feet and continued to skate.

They moved in a synchronized single loop, before Yuri reached for Otabek's hands, and led him in a spin. His domineering Alpha tendencies balked at this, but the rest of his rational mind positively revelled in it.

The beat intensified, and Otabek tried to lift Yuri again. The Omega's face was bright with joy at the move and this time he followed it easily. They immediately switched dynamics, and Yuri tried to lift Otabek, but wasn't quite strong enough to manage it. Otabek swallowed a laugh as he moved in a guided jump instead, before Yuri threw him out in a whip-spin, and they circled the ice again at breakneck speed.

 

_I, I looked into your eyes and saw_

_A world that does not exist_  
I looked into your eyes  
And saw a world I wish I was in  
  
I'll never find someone quite as touched as you  
I'll never love someone quite the way that I loved you 

 

The pair moved in intense, albeit awkward footwork, and as the song reached its climax, in a mirrored move, both Otabek and Yuri let go of each other and circled the ice in a great half-circle. Yuri tore towards him with a determined look in his eyes, one which Otabek mirrored without difficulty.

The pair met in the centre of the ice as the song hit its peak, and Otabek had about a quarter of a second to brace himself when he saw Yuri's leg muscles tense, and he leapt forward into Otabek's arms. His arms hooked around his neck and legs around his waist, while he stared down at Otabek, with a fiery, impassioned look in his eyes that Otabek had not seen in a _very_ long time.

The song trailed off in a diminuendo as the pair came down from the intense workout. Yuri slowly untangled himself from Otabek, and the Alpha reluctantly let him down. Both men were panting and sweat-soaked, while at the same time Yuri was staring at Otabek with a strange expression in his eyes. It was as though Yuri was seeing Otabek with new eyes, or for the first time—he couldn't decide which.

Without warning, Yuri threw himself at Otabek. Otabek fell back with an undignified squeak of surprise, and grimaced when the back of his head knocked hard against the ice.

Yuri did not seem to notice this as he kissed Otabek hard, and did not bother trying to hide his tears. They dampened Otabek's cheeks as they lay there, while Otabek reached up to hold his Omega close.

“Thank you, Beka,” Yuri whispered, then kissed him again. Otabek kissed him back, his hands darting up to tangle in Yuri's hair, and groaned softly as the Omega's lips parted, and his tongue tentatively darted out to meet Otabek's.

Otabek moaned, and held onto Yuri more tightly, ignoring the way his ass was beginning to go numb from the cold ice in favour of prolonging the kiss. Unfortunately, the sound of someone coughing to clear their throat drew Otabek and Yuri abruptly from their bubble.

The Omega turned towards the noise first, likely to tell whoever it was to _fuck off_ , but he suddenly froze. Otabek could all but feel the way the bottom dropped out of Yuri's stomach—the look upon the young man's face was somewhere between surprise and fear, and Otabek suddenly felt a burning compulsion to take Yuri far away from the apparent threat. _No one_ was allowed to hurt his Yuri.

Otabek forced back this mental reaction as he turned to look, and immediately he understood Yuri's fearful expression.

Standing at the rinkside, their eyes wide, was Yuuri and Viktor.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Otabek hissed, but it changed quickly to a laugh when he heard Yuri say the same thing at exactly the same time.

“What should I do?” Yuri whispered, so softly that Otabek was certain that even in the dead silence of the arena, Yuri's former friends would not be able to hear him.

“What do you _want_ to do?”

“Sink my skates in their stupid faces,” Yuri grumbled, and Otabek snorted.

“All right, _apart_ from that,” he muttered, “I'd like to get out of this backwards province without a trip to the police station to bail you out, if I can help it.”

“Backwards?”

“What sort of insane place has no beer at their grocery stores?”

Yuri snorted as he shifted, but remained perched in Otabek's lap as he reached for the Alpha's hands. Otabek understood, and stood with his Omega. Slowly, they skated over to the gawking pair.

“Yurio?” Yuuri asked as they approached, his voice a little breathless and his gaze fixed in wide-eyed shock on his chest, which was still fairly exposed thanks to the slinky top that he was wearing. “Is—is that really you?”

Yuri's eyes narrowed into a deadly glare, and Yuuri visibly flinched as though he'd been struck. Viktor wrapped a protective arm around his husband, and frowned at them. Their eyes shifted in perfect sync to Otabek, then quickly back to Yuri.

Like Yuuri, Viktor seemed to struggle in keeping his eyes focused on Yuri's face, and they frequently dropped to his chest. Yuri glared at them again, and Otabek loosed his hold on Yuri for a scant moment, just long enough to reach out and grab his jacket off the rink's barricade. He handed it to Yuri, and he accepted the garment gratefully. He quickly pulled it on, concealing his chest from view, and both Yuuri and Viktor's gazes returned shamefully to his face.

“Who else would it be?” he asked at last, his voice dangerously cold, “what the hell do you two want?”

“We didn't mean to intrude,” Yuuri said quickly, and lifted his hands in a motion of surrender. “We wanted to do a quick skate together, and we, erm, saw you?” his eyes flitted to Otabek, a question there, but when Otabek gritted his teeth and glared, the timid Japanese man cringed, and looked back at Yuri.

Viktor, however, was less subtle in his curiosity as he shifted his attention to Otabek.

“Does that mean you're an—ah, um, a...You-Know-What?” he asked Otabek, and Otabek exchanged a mystified look with his Omega. Never in his life had he had such an uncomfortable conversation—it had been a very long time since he'd associated with people so blatantly Omegaphobic, and it left him feeling uncertain how to react one way or the other. Yuri intercepted before Otabek even had a chance to formulate a response, however.

“ _Al-pha_ ,” Yuri enunciated snidely, while he wrapped a possessive arm around Otabek's waist, and pressed his cheek to Otabek's chest. All the while, he continued to glare at the fellow Russian. “It's not a hard word, Viktor. He's _my_ Alpha. Got a problem with that?”

“I—uh...”

“Gonna report me?” Otabek cut in as he arched a brow, and Viktor's face burned a deep scarlet.

“No, of course not! It's not my business—”

“—damn right, it's not,” Yuri interrupted coldly, “despite what you've heard, we're people—just like everyone else. I know that's shocking, we're not the depraved, sick monsters Yakov probably told you about. Omegas aren't sex-crazed whores, and Alphas are not rapists who can't control themselves. We're just _people_. So if this gets out—if Beka is forced to stop skating because of either of you, I'll make you wish you've never been born. Is that in any way _not_ clear, Viktor?”

Yuri did not wait for a response, but instead while he continued to cling to Otabek in a way that all but screamed _claim._ The couple skated to the rink exit, paused long enough to put on their blade guards, and walked off arm in arm without looking back.

 

~*~

 

They'd managed to make it back to the changing room before Yuri lost the battle with his stomach, and he bolted for the bathroom, and Otabek was then privy to the endearing sounds of his Omega throwing up— _loudly_.

The sound would have been almost funny if it hadn't been such a tense situation, and Otabek himself felt as though his legs had been turned to Jello.

Quickly, he changed from his skates and back into his boots, then hurried to the bathroom stall where Yuri was still dry-heaving into the toilet. Otabek pulled his Omega's hair back from his face, and Yuri flinched slightly at the gentle touch, but relaxed when he realized that it was Otabek.

He choked and gagged over the basin for a few more minutes, then got up on shaky legs. Otabek flushed the toilet for him and tried to not look _too_ grossed out as he helped Yuri over to the sink, where the Omega rinsed out his mouth and all but swallowed a whole container of Tic-Tacs.

Otabek drew Yuri into his arms without hesitation, and the Omega buried his sweat-soaked face into the crook of Otabek's neck. He could feel that Yuri was trembling, and immediately Otabek tensed his hold on him.

“You okay?” Otabek murmured, and Yuri shook his head without looking up.

“You must think I'm so fucking pathetic for falling apart like this...” Yuri mumbled, his voice heavily garbled due to the fact that he was speaking against the side of Otabek's neck. Otabek chuckled a little at the statement.

“More like the opposite, Yura,” he replied softly, and reached up to stroke his hair. “I think you're so brave for facing them like that. They were two people who utterly destroyed your trust in them, and it was clear that they were still uncomfortable around us, and you stood up to them without even blinking. I am so proud of you.”

“Shut up,” Yuri replied, though he was smiling, and his face was tinted a faint pink.

“Come on,” Otabek said, “hotel, and we can relax.”

Yuri's hold on Otabek tightened, and after a few moments they pulled out of their embrace just enough to change and get their stuff organized, then headed back to the hotel arm-in-arm.

 

~*~

 

Two days later, the couple returned to Québec.

“Home again, home again, jiggity jig,” Yuri announced as they crossed the threshold into Otabek's apartment. The Alpha snorted as Yuri fell unceremoniously onto his bed with a small bounce, and did not even bother to take his shoes off.

“Where on Earth did you learn a dorky phrase like that?”

“The AssMan at work,” Yuri mumbled while he bent himself into something close to a pretzel to untie his shoes, and tossed them away one by one. Otabek, meanwhile, dropped their bags by the door (apparently being an Alpha was also synonymous for pack mule, as far as Yuri was concerned, anyway) before he kicked off his boots and joined the Omega on the bed.

“AssMan?” Otabek prompted, and Yuri snorted.

“Yeah, as in _Assistant Manager_ , gutterface.”

“You definitely said that on purpose,” Otabek shot back, and Yuri smirked, but did not deny the claim, either. They both shimmied up the bed until they were lying down on it properly, and Yuri burrowed into Otabek's arms at once.

“Sorry, being happy to be home makes me a little delirious,” Yuri said, though _said_ was something of an exaggeration, given that once more Yuri was talking into Otabek's chest, and thus the words came out rather muffled.

Otabek beamed at Yuri's use of the word _home_ for his apartment, and he ghosted a kiss against Yuri's temple. Immediately, he lifted his gaze to catch Otabek's lips in a kiss, one which Otabek was all too happy to return.

 

They lay there, kissing and cuddling very much like a couple of newlyweds, when Yuri's phone suddenly buzzed. Yuri had shifted until he was perched on top of his Alpha, and Otabek could feel the vibration through Yuri's skinny jeans. Yuri groaned and moved in to kiss him again, as though keen to ignore the text, when it buzzed again, and Yuri let out an annoyed growl.

Otabek fell back against the mattress with a heavy sigh while Yuri straightened up to check his phone. Otabek trailed his fingers up and down the top of Yuri's thigh idly while he watched him dig into his pocket for the device and glanced down at it. Yuri's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline as he read the messages, and Otabek felt his insides squirm uneasily.

“What is it, Yura?”

Instead of answering verbally, Yuri turned the phone around to show him, and it displayed his lock screen, and laid over it were the beginnings of two messages—one from Viktor Nikiforov, and one from Yuuri Katsuki.

 

_Yurio, can we talk? I feel awful about what happened [...]_ read Viktor's.

 

_Yurio, I'm so sorry. Can we go out for dinner soon? I've been so unfair to you [...]_ said Yuuri's.

 

“How do those two texts end?” Otabek asked as Yuri took his phone back and unlocked it to check the full messages from his former friends.

“Both of them read almost exactly the same,” Yuri replied, his voice on the side of emotionless, but less like he was trying to protect himself from heartbreak, and more like he wasn't sure _how_ to react. “Sickeningly long paragraphs about how badly they feel about shunning me after Yakov found out about me, apparently Yakov blurted out my big secret along with a lot of bullshit about Omegas...we're really girls, we're sex-crazed, we're whores, blah, blah, blah...”

“Are you going to respond?” Otabek asked as Yuri tossed the phone aside and lay down on top of Otabek like he was some sort of body pillow. To the question Yuri sighed heavily and shrugged his shoulders.

“I don't know,” he replied, his voice barely above a mumble. “I mean, you saw them at the rink, they we're so...so... _weirded out_ by me. I don't know if I could sit through a whole dinner like that...I'm tired of being treated like a freak.”

“It's not your job to be the Alpha and Omega Spokesperson of the community for them,” Otabek said as he wrapped his arms around his Omega, and laced his fingers together at the small of Yuri's back. “It's not your job to be their educator about us. They know how Google works, they can easily do their own research. So, if you don't want to, that's fine, they'd deserve it. But...Yura, they reached out, obviously they still see you as a friend. They want to apologize. So it's entirely up to you if you want them back in your life or not. Whatever you choose, I'll be there to help you get through it—if you need me.”

“I _always_ need you, Beka,” Yuri blurted out, and immediately he went very red. Otabek chuckled and unlaced one of his hands to cradle Yuri's chin against his knuckle, and he guided him into a kiss.

“I love you, Yuri,” he murmured, and Yuri's hold on him tightened.

“I love you too, Beka.”

 

Otabek had no doubts about his future with Yuri Plisetsky.

He'd always been certain that Yuri would always be part of his life, in one way or another. Even when they had been parted, this was always a certainty.

As the Omega curled up on top of him, a sheepish, but pleased smile on his face, Otabek knew now beyond any doubt that Yuri would also always be _his_.

And that was more than Otabek could have ever hoped for.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Song featured in this chapter is Touched by VAST  
> Those of you unfamiliar with music lingo, a diminuendo is the opposite of a crescendo. So where a crescendo slowly builds up, a diminuendo trails off slowly. (This is a bare bones explanation, but I think that gives you an idea. :P)
> 
> For anyone who is interested, I have a tumblr account for all my fanfic stuff, same username, Jbankai89, and I have been posting photographs from my town, AKA the town in which most of this story is set, if you'd like to check it out!
> 
> Omegaphobic, as far as I know, is my own term. Feel free to use it in your own fics, but please credit me.


	15. Epilogue: Love Is Patient

Epilogue – Love is Patient

 

**Eight Months Later**

 

Otabek had always heard that time passed more quickly when you were happy, but never had he the opportunity to experience it for himself.

Until now, that is.

The past eight months had been like something out of a dream, and thinking back on it, Otabek still felt amazed by how amazingly well everything had gone. From his silver medal at the Rostelecom Cup (losing by a hair to that Canadien twit) to the gold he'd stolen from Yuuri Katsuki at the Grand Prix Final, everything had gone so perfectly, it was almost like a dream.

 

Then there was the domestic bliss he'd shared with his Omega following their triumphant return from Reykjavik, where the Final had been held that year.

It did not take long for Yuri to suggest that they move in together, and that had turned out to be a brilliant idea on a number of levels. They made the tremendously far move of one door down from Otabek's place to an apartment complex above the piercing shop next door. He gave Yuri free decorating reign over the place, which resulted in a lot of leopard-print décor, but surprisingly, nothing overtly gaudy.

The move also taught Otabek how to step around cats in the dead of night, without falling and killing either himself or the stupid fuzzball. Unfortunately, this was an art that had taken a few painful mishaps to get right.

Even months later, Yuri was _still_ annoyed that Otabek had stepped on his precious Misha, never mind that Otabek nearly broke his neck during the altercation. He'd quickly learnt that cats came before partners for Yuri, and after that, Otabek had been much more careful about his nighttime bathroom breaks, and even brought along his phone to use as a light to be on the safe side.

The best part, in Otabek's opinion, at least, was the simple act of waking up with and coming home to Yuri every day. Sharing his meals, his bed, hell, his _life_ with the Omega known as Yuri Plisetsky was more than Otabek could have ever dared hope for.

Otabek was quite certain however that if he'd posed such a question to Yuri, the Omega's answer would be quite different. Otabek did not feel offended by this fact—Yuri had every reason to be excited over the news that a number of world sports organizations were re-assessing their bans on Alphas and Omegas from competing in professional sports.

 

At the present moment however, their recent domestic bliss, the possibility that he could get back to skating, and even his tenuous reconnection with Yuuri and Viktor were the furthest things from Yuri's mind.

It was early August, after all, and the impending heat season had sent Yuri spiralling into a panic.

“There's still time,” Otabek reminded Yuri, his voice just barely above a low murmur as he rocked his Omega in his lap, his arms wrapped securely around Yuri's waist as he held him close. Yuri stared wide-eyed off into space, the look in his eyes nothing short of genuine terror, “we don't have to do this yet if you don't feel ready.”

Yuri's hand dropped to Otabek's knee and squeezed. His nails bit into the flesh painfully, but neither man moved. For a long moment, Yuri did not respond, but when he finally did, his voice shook badly in his fear, but there was a certainty woven into his tone that Otabek did not miss.

“No,” Yuri replied, breathing hard, “I want this to happen. I want you here. Beka, I want _you._ Whatever I say when it starts, this time...I _do_ want it.”

Yuri turned in Otabek's arms as he finished speaking and kissed him hard, and Otabek in turn held the Omega— _his_ Omega—close.

They clutched at each other much more tightly than was necessary, as though afraid the other would vanish if they relaxed their hold. At Yuri's words, Otabek felt as though he might weep with joy. It had been _so_ long, after all, and to think that the moment when Yuri wanted to be taken during his heat had finally arrived was almost more than Otabek could take. Never in his life had Otabek wanted something so much, and knowing that at last Yuri wanted it too made it leaps and bounds even more wonderful.

“Then I'll make it so good for you, Yuri,” Otabek whispered before he kissed him again, “I won't hurt you, I promise.”

“I trust you, Beka,” Yuri replied with a small smile, “I'm nervous as hell, but...I trust you.”

“I love you, Yura, you know that, right?”

“You tell me that like fifteen times a day,” Yuri teased as his mouth twitched into a small smile, “of course I know it. I love you too, Beka...my Alpha.”

Yuri looked as though he wanted to say more, but suddenly his body went rigid, his breath hitched, and his hold on Otabek tightened.

“It's starting, isn't it, Yura?” Otabek asked, but even without hearing the answer, Otabek knew it to be true. The first tendrils of Yuri's heat scent hit his nostrils, and Otabek felt his cock instantly grow hard.

It had begun.

A small moan escaped past Yuri's lips, and he gazed wide-eyed up at Otabek. The green irises Otabek was so accustomed to seeing were almost gone, obliterated by his wide, dilated pupils. His lips were parted and slightly damp, and his chest was heaving as he flushed a deep red in his burning need for the touch of his Alpha.

Yuri kissed Otabek—hard. Their lips came together with a bruising force, and Yuri's skin felt hot under Otabek's hands. The Omega keened into the kiss, and grappled at Otabek's shirt in a silent plea for him to remove it.

Otabek obliged, breaking the kiss to peel off the tight garment, and he tossed it aside (ignoring the miaow of indignation as it hit one of the cats) before his hands fell to the hem of Yuri's tank top, and gazed up at the lust-drunk Omega, a question in his eyes.

“Please, Beka,” Yuri pleaded, his breath gasping, “please...my Alpha... _please_...”

Otabek needed no further encouragement, and relieved Yuri of his top, tossing it aside as he had with his own (missing the cat this time), Yuri hadn't bothered with a bra that day, and Otabek pulled Yuri back to him with one arm while his opposite hand fell to his chest.

_Finally_.

Yuri's breasts were soft and supple beneath Otabek's fingers. His small nipples were hard, and they seemed to be extremely sensitive, if the way Yuri shuddered and moaned every time Otabek's thumb brushed over one of them was any indication.

Otabek trailed kisses from Yuri's mouth, along his throat and clavicle, then stopped at his chest. He trailed his tongue from the collarbone and down to the tempting mounds of flesh, stopping at Yuri's right nipple. He circled it with the tip of his tongue, and Yuri moaned again as Otabek took the small nub into his mouth and suckled softly.

The intimate touch seemed almost too much for Yuri as he squirmed beneath Otabek—but definitely not from discomfort. He moaned almost continually, his chest heaving as he panted hard, and his hands descended into Otabek's hair, fisting the strands in a silent plea for him to continue.

Otabek happily obliged, and moved his mouth to the opposite nipple to offer it the same treatment.

“ _Beka_...” Yuri whined, and wiggled his hips in an obvious hint. With a throaty chuckle, he dropped his hands to the waistline of Yuri's leggings and peeled them off.

Once again Yuri hadn't bothered with undergarments, and his erection jutted out proudly from his body, flushed red and leaking precum. His ass glistened in the low light of the sunset from the heat slick that he was producing, and the mere scent of it unhindered by the thin garment made Otabek groan with longing.

He kissed Yuri again, hard, and Yuri linked his hands at the base of Otabek's neck in a vice-like grip. The fiendish little Omega rotated his hips, grinding his cock against the front of Otabek's jeans in an obvious hint.

Shaking slightly from the effort to keep his mind through the haze of arousal, he kicked off his jeans and briefs, and fumbled on the side table for a condom.

Using his teeth, Otabek ripped the small packet open, withdrew the ring of white latex, and rolled it into place before he turned his attention back to his Omega.

“Mine,” Otabek purred, finally allowing his mind to be overtaken by the heat, “you're all mine...”

“My Alpha,” Yuri replied, and let go of Otabek to drop back on the bed, while he spread his legs wide in invitation. “ _Please_...”

“As if I'd ever say no...” Otabek replied, and laughed when he saw the exasperated look on Yuri's face. Likely, he was remembering his last heat when Otabek said almost nothing _but_ no.

Otabek blanketed Yuri's lithe form with his own as he kissed him deeply, and the Omega whined into his mouth, arching up as he gripped tightly to Otabek, as though afraid he might suddenly disappear.

“Relax, Yuri,” Otabek whispered, “it's all right, I'm right here...”

Yuri responded by kissing him harder and hooking a leg around Otabek's waist while he arched up to grind their groins together again. Otabek shuddered and moaned, while his mouth dropped to the hollow of Yuri's throat and bit down lightly on his bonding gland.

It had the same effect as though Otabek had grabbed his cock, and Yuri's whole body seemed to tremble from the contact. His legs spread farther apart, and he shifted on the bed, presenting himself to Otabek, and the Alpha found himself caught between amusement and arousal at the almost desperate display of need for his ass to be filled by Otabek's cock.

Yuri appeared too far gone to care about anything but getting his physical needs met, and though Otabek found it much more fun than he had expected to tease him like this, his own throbbing erection was demanding attention, and he could no longer control his need to finally— _finally_ take Yuri.

Otabek placed a hand on Yuri's hip and coaxed him onto his stomach, where he immediately pulled himself up onto all fours, his ass high in the air.

“Please, Beka, _please_...” Yuri begged, his tone of voice making it sound as though he was just barely holding back tears, “I _need_ you...”

Otabek groaned at the plaintive whine with which Yuri spoke, and he shifted to line himself up with the Omega's waiting hole. With one hand still on Yuri's hip, he used to other to position himself, and very slowly, he finally breached Yuri's entrance.

Given that it was heat season, Otabek did not need to prepare Yuri with his fingers, and he slid into the hot, tight channel easily, while below him the Omega let out another keening moan of pleasure, one which Otabek matched immediately.

_Finally_.

It was a sentiment Otabek wholeheartedly agreed with, and even with it being unnecessary to prepare Yuri, Otabek still went slowly in order to help his Omega acclimate to the sensation.

With each inch that disappeared into Yuri's sweet ass, Otabek's tenuous hold on his instincts was becoming more and more brittle, and the way Yuri was constantly clenching around his erection wasn't exactly helping, either. His fingertips dug sharply into Yuri's hips, but Yuri did not seem to notice the pain. His body was slick with sweat, his chest was heaving, and he appeared to be close to delirious from all the new sensations that he was experiencing.

“ _Beka_...” Yuri keened, and pressed back into Otabek, causing him to gasp sharply as the Omega completed sheathing the cock inside him before Otabek had a chance to do so. He bowed forward and wrapped an arm around Yuri's waist, holding him still for a long moment as he shuddered, fighting the need to immediately begin thrusting, and instead savoured the moment, the wonderful sensation of being so completely connected to Yuri— _his_ Yuri—like this.

“ _Yuri_...” he breathed in a similar tone, before he slowly drew back and thrust back in, causing the Omega to gasp sharply.

“ _Yes..._ ” Yuri hissed, his fingers digging into the fabric of the comforter while he moved in tandem with his Alpha, Otabek's inexperienced thrusts shaky and jerky as he tried to find his rhythm with his Omega, while beneath him Yuri seemed fixated upon finding release, and nothing else.

“Yuri, my Yuri...” Otabek choked out between sharp gasps. His movements sped up, and the only sound that permeated the room was the dull, wet slap of flesh meeting flesh, and the low grunts and moans of the couple upon the bed.

 Otabek could feel himself getting close, and a low piteous whine of pleasure escaped him at this realization. His mind felt foggy, and his body seemed to be running on auto-pilot; the sensations he was experiencing were far too overwhelming for his mind to keep up with it all. Otabek could feel his knot beginning to grow at the base of his cock, just as a soft, pleading request floated to his ears.

" _Bite me, Beka,_ ” Yuri pleaded softly, “ _please...bite me, mark me..._ ”

“Ngh...” Otabek groaned, his negation stuck in his throat as he forced his knot forward and locked himself together with his Omega. Sudden pain lanced through his jaw, and before Otabek knew what he was doing, he had sunk his teeth into Yuri's bonding gland, and the Omega found his release at the same moment with a sharp cry, just as Otabek found his mere seconds later.

The coppery tang of blood in his mouth should have been disgusting, but Otabek found himself even more aroused by it. He traced the tip of his tongue over the wound, moving still on instinct rather than rational thought. Yuri's breath hitched as though the sensation stung, but Otabek did not stop, and instead he circled the wound again and again with his tongue, while the skin knitted itself back together, as though by magic.

When Otabek pulled back, there was no blood on the Omega's skin, though now a circular bonding mark was visible upon his Omega's fair throat.

Shuddering from exhaustion, Otabek felt himself beginning to tip forward, but at the last moment realized that this would cause him to crush Yuri, and he quickly turned on his side, a hand at his Omega's waist to keep him from ripping them apart too soon, given that they were still locked together by Otabek's knot.

The couple lay panting, Otabek's arm still firmly locked around Yuri's waist, the Omega in question more relaxed than Otabek could recall ever seeing him before. For the moment, his mind seemed to have cleared, and he was staring ahead in silence, his hands resting against Otabek's arm, holding him there.

“How...how do you feel?” Otabek asked softly, as the gravity of what had happened slowly came back to him, along with a memory from nearly a full year earlier, which now chilled him to the bone.

 

“ _I mean, I think I understand why you didn't...but, how come you didn't mark me?”_

“ _Did you_ want _me to mark you?”_

“ _Yes—no—fuck, I don't know. I don't get you. Every other Alpha just...just...took what they wanted. Why are you making me choose?”_

“ _I'm not making you do anything, Yura, I don't want to force you into anything you may not want, or may not feel ready for. Bonding is a pretty serious business, and both of us are still pretty young. I'd rather just be with you, and I'll mark you when you ask for it—out of your Heat.”_

 

As Otabek waited for an answer, he felt the first stirrings of guilt in the pit of his stomach.

_I broke my promise..._

“I feel...perfect,” Yuri murmured, his confession snapping Otabek out of his daze. His hand moved to the circular scar at his throat, and he brushed his fingers over it lightly. “Thank you, Beka.”

“You...you might feel differently out of your heat,” Otabek replied, his arm tensing around his Omega. “What if this isn't what you wanted?”

“I asked you before why you didn't,” Yuri replied, “and I _asked_ for it. I won't regret it later—I know that I won't.”

Otabek felt his knot soften enough that he could pull out, and immediately Yuri rolled over and snuggled into Otabek's arms. Otabek reached down to remove and discard the used condom, then pulled Yuri close. The moment his arms closed around his Omega, Yuri let out a soft sigh of contentment.

Otabek held him in peaceful quiet, that is, until their dual arousal began to reassert itself, and once more Otabek pulled Yuri to him in a demanding kiss, and they descended back into the throes of heat-induced passion.

 

~*~

 

Fourteen days, to the the hour, passed them by.

Otabek could remember little of it, except for the brief pauses in which he rushed out to the pharmacy to pick up fresh boxes of condoms, and tried valiantly to ignore the knowing look that the cashier gave him each time.

Yuri would always protest these interruptions, but Otabek ignored him. He wasn't about to risk getting Yuri pregnant, not when there was a chance for him to return to skating competitively—there was no way he would be able to do that with a bun in the oven.

Fourteen days of dizzying passion, near-constant arousal, and the sweet, delicious sensation of pounding Yuri's ass— _at last._ It was an amazing feeling, one Otabek was certain that he'd never tire of.

 

When Otabek woke on that fourteenth day, the first thing he was acutely aware of was that he was alone in the bed.

He blinked bemusedly, his limbs feeling like jello, and Otabek was fairly certain that if he tried to stand, he'd immediately fall over.

However, the lack of Yuri nearby was troubling, but he could still smell him, which was reassuring, at least.

Otabek looked around and found Yuri almost immediately, and his heart began to sink. His Omega was standing in front of the closet door mirror, his head tilted to the side, and he was tracing the circular scar that Otabek had left on his throat with his fingertips.

Yuri looked deliciously dishevelled. His hair was a mess, his upper body was littered with blushing love bites, and there were purple finger marks on his narrow hips. Some sort of shiny residue clung to his stomach, and it took Otabek a moment to realize that this was a mixture of dried semen and saliva.

Slowly, Otabek sat up, his mind awash with guilt over what he had done in the heat of the moment—binding himself to Yuri, when he'd sworn to only do it if Yuri asked for it _out_ of his heat.

Immediately, Yuri's gaze whipped from the mirror and to his mate. Surprisingly, Otabek found him to be smiling.

“Morning, Beka,” Yuri said pleasantly, his fingers still on the mating mark.

“Morning,” Otabek replied as he stood up slowly, and approached Yuri.

He placed himself at Yuri's back, his arms around his Omega's waist, and he watched as Yuri tilted his head to the side, making the mark more visible, and his fingers began to trace the shape of it again, the smile never leaving his face.

“Told you I wouldn't regret it,” he teased, and Otabek smiled weakly. He was relieved that Yuri was not upset with him, but he could not help but feel guilty at his actions.

Yuri seemed to sense Otabek's continued guilt, and he turned around in the embrace to look up at his Alpha properly, his eyes sparkling with adoration.

“Thank you, Beka,” Yuri whispered, and arched up to kiss him.

“For what?” Otabek asked, his lips mere millimetres away from Yuri's. To his question, the Omega's smile broadened.

“Everything.”

 

-Fin

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So ends my first-ever full-length YOI fanfic ^.^ I loved writing this, which is saying a lot considering I haven't been much interested in ABO stuff for a while. I'm so glad that you guys enjoyed it, as I had a lot of fun writing it. I'll be back with another Otayuri fic before too long, but until then, you can keep up-to-date with my fanfic stuff by following me on Tumblr @jbankai89, or keeping an eye on my account here. Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> xox  
> James
> 
> PS. Disclaimer: I don't hate JJ. I just love to poke fun at him. He's actually one of my favourite characters, and the twit comment is because this is Otabek's POV, and I think we all know that Otabek sort of hates JJ. XD (or at least that's my belief)

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Prologues are generally pretty short, the followup chapter will be much longer, I promise :). Chapter title stolen from My Chemical Romance.
> 
> Spasibo – Russian for thank you (which you should all know from the anime, but I'm sticking it here just in case anyway)  
> Pazhaloysta – Russian for you're welcome. If the spelling is off (which it might be, but I think it's OK) please let me know so that I can fix it.


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